The Poet
by Just A Bit Potty
Summary: In 7th Year Harry has lost himself and his emotions. His memories are slowly disappearing, and after one more trauma, he only gets worse. On paper, he unleashes demons, but it may not be enough... what happens when he forgets too much? Indefinite Hiatus
1. Prologue Anaesthetic

**The Poet**

:: narrated mostly by Harry Potter ::

:: Authored by _just a bit potty _::

_This summer, Harry has more to worry about than Voldemort..._

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Rated **R**, for mature themes, mild **ABUSE** and allusion to **RAPE**. Yes, I have a dark side. Feedback and reviews will make Harry suffer less... for at least a little while, anyway. HEED MY **WARNINGS**; I WILL NOT TOLERATE **IMMATURE** AUDIENCES COMPLAINING ABOUT CONTENT AFTER I HAVE LABELLED SUCH. Not that I've had any of that before, but I know other authors have, so I just want to clarify it, hehehe.

Another big warning: please bear in mind that this story will be **SLASH**, as pretty much all my stories are. If you don't know what that is, you'd do best to leave right now, I think. Unless you think you're up for a bit of **_boy-on-boy_** action? The pairing MIGHT be **Draco&Harry, **or Harry might end up with no one. I'll decide as I go along. It's also a lot darker than my other fic, '**A Wet Tale**' (which, by the way I really should get around to completing, and I'm biting my nails here with worry. It's a far cry from anything I've ever done before, including the '**Evanescence**' series. And this will only get worse before it gets better, follow me?

As a general disclaimer for the rest of this fan-fiction, I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with Harry Potter. _Sigh_ I also didn't write any of the poetry in this story, except for maybe one or two pieces. All those that aren't mine will be noted in footnotes at the bottom of each chapter.

Thanks!

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**Prologue** - Anaesthetic, _the summer_.

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_Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting Heaven  
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,  
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven  
So wild that every casual thought of that and this  
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season  
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;  
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,  
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,  
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,  
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent  
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken  
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?_ [1]

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T he scratching of my quill over parchment late at night has become the only comfort to me. When I curl up in my Spartan bed and dream of soft blankets, it's my feathered pen that calls me. When my relatives are snoring down the hall, and Hedwig's bright, yellow eyes blink at me sadly from the darkness, I take pen to paper and pretend I'm not here. When I tremble uncontrollably, yet feel nothing but an empty anger inside... writing is my only release.

And when the sun peeks shyly over the horizon, every secret word I've written is stuffed haphazardly into the loose floorboard in my room, unread.

It began in the summer after my sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The drive home was in a deathly silence, the very air pregnant with foreboding. Yet I sat, squashed in the back of the Dursleys' newest earning from Grunnings, trying not to squirm against the hot leather seats as my uncle glared every few minutes at me from the rear-view mirror.

Feeling very much like an unworthy mouse, not even fit to be squashed under his fake leather shoes, I hadn't the heart to muster any sort of anger. I watched the trees whizzing by my window and tried to summon the energy to feel. Lately, it felt as if my chest had been sealed in a block of ice, locking away all sense of feeling... all sense of reacting. Ever since...Sirius... It made me want to throw myself into the fire, just to feel heat licking at my bones, just to feel..._something_. Even anger. After blowing up at the end of my fifth year, I hadn't felt much of anything.

Too much weighed on my mind, hurting almost as much as the scar that cursed my forehead. I wouldn't even let myself think over everything that had happened in my fifth and sixth years. It brought the only feeling I could seem to muster, and one I didn't want to endure—nausea. It made my sick to my stomach, thinking of the betrayal, the fear... the death. I knew Dumbledore was trying, but I could see the war dragging him down, especially when he moved. He walked as if shackles bound his hands and feet wherever he went, bent low with that warm twinkle in his eyes dying a little each passing day. Harsh wrinkles etched jagged lines over his tired face. I suppose I could be angry at him, for manipulating me, and everyone, this way—but I can't. I just can't, not when I see how much this hurts him, to be using people like this. All he wants is for this... suffering... to end. That's all anybody wants. Anybody fighting for good, that is. It's still so easy to look at things in black and white. I don't dare stray into fields of grey until I'm alone with my thoughts, and only then for brief moments. It's just easier to think of life that way. Less... complicated.

And the last thing I need is complication.

I was torn out of my meandering thoughts when the supposedly 'new' car shuddered to a halt at number four, Privet Drive. I glanced up the street, at the rows and rows of perfect, identical houses. That nauseous feeling welled up in my stomach again. I fought it down and crawled out of the car. I supposed Dudley and Aunt Petunia are inside, cursing their fate that they were stuck with me once again for the summer.

Vernon barked his purple-faced orders at me. "Hurry up, boy. Get inside and put your things in the cupboard," he hissed, and with the lumbering gait of a sick elephant, entered the house. I heard Petunia let out a warm welcoming screech, and quickly hefted my belongings from the trunk. Loaded like a pack mule with my heavy trunk and Hedwig's dinted cage, I ambled inside, struggling with my things. Obediently I stuffed them all in the cupboard under the stairs; once my home for an entire ten years of my life. It wouldn't surprise if I could still fit in there—I certainly haven't grown much...

"Well, boy? What are you waiting for? I took the time out of my busy schedule just to pick you up from that ruddy train station, and my Dudley has been waiting all day for his afternoon snack! Get to it!"

Why couldn't I fight back? I used to be brave; I used to stand up for myself. Only a faint bubbling of indignation welled within me, smothered quickly by the sense of hopelessness.

It hardly seems worth it. Better to let them string me up and be their marionette. I have no energy to protest. It's all bottled up inside me, stoppered by the sheath of unfeeling in my chest. And I have no will to change it.

So like the obedient servant, I trudged to the kitchen and roasted an afternoon feast for the beached whale I have for a cousin. And with something that might have been hunger, I watched him gobble the lot, the least of which was an entire chicken.

Hours later, I was finally given a respite. After Dudley had devoured his 'snack', he had plopped in front of the telly like he had nothing better to do and Petunia attacked me with chores she was glad she didn't have to do anymore.

The mop became my dancing partner for the next hour, as I whirled it around every floor that needed polishing. I drove the vacuum around the carpeted floors, ones the mop could not touch, casting my mind far away. The windows were sparkling clean when I finally set down my cleaning weapons.

It was a numbing torture, scuttling around the house like a beetle, ducking slaps from my uncle's meaty fist or cuffs to the head from my aunt's bony palm. I was glad for it, though, as it gave me a chance to sneak some of my things upstairs — there was no way I was going to risk my ticket out of here by not doing my homework. By the time Dudley was whining for dinner, a purple bruise had blossomed over my left cheek. And even though it stung and made my eyes water, it didn't move me. It was just another part of living in this household. I felt not a thing. Not even anger... Not even fear... Not yet.

And when I had dutifully done my chores, and finished a painstakingly scrumptious dinner that, of course, I wasn't allowed to eat, I was dismissed, with a warning not to make any noise whatsoever, as apparently Grunnings was going to be on the news that night and they wanted to watch without missing a thing. Easy enough. I didn't feel much like talking anyway. I suppose I should have felt elation, being released from duty for the night, but all I felt was a deep weariness in my bones. Far down inside, I felt as old as Dumbledore looked.

The lumpy mattress that barely passed as a bed beckoned, and like a child I curled up on its uncomfortable cushioning, pillowing my un-bruised cheek on my hands. Sheer fatigue scooped me up and cradled me into sleep.

I don't know how long I lay there, slumbering lightly, but by the time I woke the sun had finally sunk beyond the suburban hills. My eyes rolled about listlessly, pondering the time. I supposed it might be prudent to begin my studies — there was no way I wanted to get behind this year, not with the Newts looming ever closer.

So decided, I soon had parchments sprawled all over the rickety desk and a book nursed in my lap, drowsily skimming through the contents as time slipped away. Potions never was my favourite subject.

It was Hedwig that roused my from my ardent studying. I'd moved on from Potions after my mind kept wandering too far, and instead was flipping through a Transfiguration text, scribbling down various notes.

I slid my gaze to her cage, where she shifted her claws restlessly, craning her neck toward the shuttered window.

"What is it, girl? Hungry? I'm sorry; I don't have any food right now. Maybe later," I murmured, my voice thick with defeat.

I knew she understood me, but still she persisted with her quiet hooting, flapping her pristine wings at me from behind the bars of her cage. A mild frustration rippled under my skin — couldn't she understand? She was going to get me a right pummelling if she didn't quit it.

"What is it? You know I can't let you out. What do you want?" I flicked my eyes toward the door, cringing as I heard the distinct sound of a chair scraping over freshly polished tiles, chased shortly by heavy, thumping footsteps and an angry muttering. "Please be quiet, Hedwig."

If anything, her squawking escalated, her wide yellow eyes glaring at me in what looked like fear. What was wrong with her?! For the first time in months I felt something genuine pounding in my chest; fear. Leaden feet stomped up the stairs.

"Hedwig, why can't you just shut the hell up?!" I hissed, clutching the bars of her cage in my fists. Oh god... please she had to be quiet... "You're going to get me in—"

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon's throaty growl rumbled from beyond my door. Eyes wide with fright I whirled to face the entrance to my prison, knocking the parchments and books from the table in my haste. The doorknob twisted...

The last thing I remember from that night is scattered sheets of paper on the floor.

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"_Throughout the echoing chambers of my brain  
I hear your words in mournful cadence toll  
Like some slow passing-bell which warns the soul  
Of sundering darkness. Unrelenting, fain  
To batter down resistance, fall again  
Stroke after stroke, insistent diastole,  
The bitter blows of truth, until the whole  
Is hammered into fact made strangely plain.  
Where shall I look for comfort? Not to you.  
Our worlds are drawn apart, our spirit's suns  
Divided, and the light of mine burnt dim.  
Now in the haunted twilight I must do  
Your will. I grasp the cup which over-runs,  
And with my trembling lips I touch the rim."_ [2]

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I suppose that's where my... obsession began. I'm still not sure what happened, but... I...

When I next drifted from unconsciousness, I was sprawled in a gangly heap on the floor, pain pulsing through my veins, gunshots firing in my skull. The silvery blue light of the moon sprawled across my bedroom in bright stripes. With strangely trembling hands I plucked my clothes from the floor and pulled them back on my shivering body, wincing as they scraped over tender skin, yet the rest of me felt number than before. I didn't dare question why my flesh had been bare. Just shoved it to the back of my mind...

Hedwig was silent now, her bright, glaring eyes peering sorrowfully at me from her round face.

All my eyes could see were the pure white parchments blanketing the hardwood floors; pure in a way I couldn't be. Unmarked, unblemished, unspoiled. My hands twitched, and I wanted to sully those harmless sheets of paper. Despoil them with my words, with my thoughts. Maybe I should've cried. Maybe I should have been shocked, appalled, anything. But instead I found myself dragging those unsullied sheets toward me. I huddled on the floor and reached for my stained old quill and Never-Spill Impervious ink, coloured black, number thirty-four: obsidian; laying innocuously on the floor by the desk. And I wrote.

I wrote until my hand was cramped and twisted, and piled before me were pages and pages of script. I wrote until I forgot, forgot everything. I wanted to linger in my memory, nothing of what happened... nothing. A Muggle pensieve; a release of memory. Of emotions I'd thought I'd lost forever. And even though I'd written every word, I still had no idea of what my stenographic writing had produced.

It wasn't until much later, when the first stray lights of dawn were peeking into my barred window that I shuffled through the many sheets.

I can't describe what I felt when my eyes drank in words that couldn't be mine, but were.

My lips moved silently, as I read, "_Music, when soft voices die_, _vibrates in the memory. Odours, when sweet violets sicken, live within the sense they quicken..." _[3]

Through every page I rifled, pouring over every word I'd scrawled, until I realised: I was real. Emotions still lay within me and... and I could _feel_. And with that came the urge to hide it, to keep it all away, locked safe, so they couldn't steal it from me. Already, so much had been stolen. In that moment, I wanted so badly to cry. Just a tear. One, single tear. I knew I should... but still they would not come. No moisture to shine in my dull green eyes. No life behind the windows to myself. It was hidden deep inside me, my being, for no-one but blank paper to see.

I would keep it that way. It was _mine_.  
  
When the shrill cry of a morning bird rustled me out of my thoughts, I hurriedly packed those precious pieces of myself back under the floorboard, and predicted it to be around six in the morning, well before the Dursleys even thought of hauling themselves from their warm, comfortable beds. The stairs didn't creek under my meagre weight as they did under Dudley's and for that I was grateful. I ignored the stabbing pain each step brought me, and meandered slowly into the kitchen. From the freshest loaf, a slice of bread was stolen, and a glass of water was quickly gulped down by my parched mouth. I hardly had a stomach for food, but I dutifully ate my stolen share, saving some for Hedwig, though a part of me thought she hardly deserved it. My body was grateful for it, rewarding me with enough energy to begin breakfast.

When my 'family' stomped down the stairs like a small herd of elephants, I had to hide a cringe. Dread filled my stomach, but I couldn't... remember... why? Why was I so scared...? I blinked my fear away and carefully laid out the table. Perfect. Nice and normal.

When Petunia entered the kitchen that morning, it was with a white face and a pinched expression. For some reason her eyes watered whenever she looked at me, which was never for very long. 'You must be too hideous for her to bear the sight of me this morning...' said a cold voice in my mind. I was disturbed to realise it was me. And then the strangest thing happened. I noticed Petunia slyly sneaking portions of her breakfast into the overly-large pockets of her nightgown. Later, as Dudley and V-Vernon (why does it hurt to say his name?) settled in front of the telly to watch the best morning shows, she ushered me into the kitchen, and with a stifled sob offered me the contents of her pockets. Just some bacon and toast, and it occurred to me how strange it was that she wasn't afraid of smearing her gown with grease. I tried to question her, find out her reasoning, but she just shoved the food into my hands and quickly moved upstairs. To change, I presumed.

Puzzled, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and quickly nibbled on my given food. The bacon was gone within minutes, but I wisely stashed the toast for later the pockets of my pants. I wasn't about to think that one could deed would precede another. That was plain stupid.

From that moment on, my summer away from Hogwarts was both different and the same. Whenever Uncle Ver...Vern... (I still can't say his name... why? Why can't I say it?). Whenever ... _he_ and Dudley weren't around, Aunt Petunia was almost... nice... to me. Her words were still terse, and her horse-like features as stony as ever... But always, if we were alone in the house, she would help me with my chores and give me some food. Tend my bruises... though... I... I can't quite remember anymore... where they came from... Randomly they'd appear; on my back, my arms, my thighs, my cheek... I just ignored them.

Then there were the nights, my nights, when I would fumble for paper and write. And write, and write, and write. Words poured from my quill like water, flowing onto the paper as if channelled by someone unseen... someone with something to say. I never halted the stream, never questioned where these words were coming from. After that first night, however, I've never had the urge to read them. They're simple my secret, my respite, to be kept safe away from conscious thought. I'm not sure if I'm even awake anymore, when I write...

And then came the day when my letter from Hogwarts finally flew through the bars of my window; the tawny owl had somehow pecked it off its leg and tossed it through, as if it knew just where I would be. Sure enough:

_MR. H. Potter,_

_The Upstairs Bedroom to the Left,_

_4. Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging,_

_Surry_

...was scrawled in the same green ink across the front of the envelope, closed at the back with a Hogwarts seal. Calmly I unfolded the letter and skimmed through its contents. It was nothing really new to me; last year, since I had been denied the opportunity to spend the summer at my best friend, Ron's, I had asked the headmaster if he would ask Hagrid to get my school supplies. He knew enough about the Dursleys to agree.

However, it was the last few sentences that caught my attention, and I felt something that may have been surprise, had I the energy to feel it.

_...pleased to inform you that you have been selected as Head Boy this year. Congratulations._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress._

Head Boy? How could that have happened? I neither wanted, nor deserved that privilege.That was it. No explanation, no nothing. Yet I couldn't find the energy to be truly appalled. As the minutes passed, I did what I had been doing a lot lately; accepted it and moved on. Forgotten until it was necessary to remember.

And now, as I sit on my bed like I have done countless nights before, silently caressing a bruise on my forearm, I await the coming dawn. Today I will be on the train to Hogwarts, pasting on a happy mask while inside I feel dead. A walking corpse, I rise from my mattress and slither into the bathroom, gazing upon the stranger in the mirror. For a moment, I'm shocked at the ghastly face staring back at me, wondering who it could be. But... but this is no magicked surface; just a simple Muggle version, that reflects what I am. What I am...

When did I become so gaunt? Why are my cheeks so pale and sallow_, _sunken into my face? My eyes are large, round orbs of dull green, looking like they take up half my pastel face. My hair is a stringy mass of black capping my head. I look dead. I look sickly and weak and nothing like the hero I'm supposed to be. I skim a skeletal hand down my chest, feeling my ribs jut out grotesquely. I feel ugly, deathly. I stare at the skeleton in the mirror, and feel nauseous. It's sickening to see what I've become, but I can't force myself to care much.

It's painful, but I drag myself back to my room to collect Hedwig and... my writings. Hastily I shove them and the few school supplies I had with me into an old pillowcase Petunia had given me in one of her bouts of generosity that still vaguely puzzle me. With Hedwig's cage in one hand and my paper-stuffed pillowcase in the other, I scramble downstairs. The meagre mass of my belongings is enough to slow my frail body down. I already know what to do; load the car so that ... I don't have to be yelled at to do it later. That way we can just pile into the car and go. Go... away from here... away...

A noise from upstairs startles me, and I hurry out the front door to load Hedwig's cage into the back seat along with my paper-stuffs pillow case. I'd let Hedwig out earlier, so she wouldn't have to suffer the ride with me. Perhaps I still cared about some things.

When I step back through the front door, I'm greeted with an explosion of pain on the side of my face. Falling with the motion, all I can do was move with the blow and allow myself to be knocked aside as Vernon storms out of the house, muttering heatedly about 'stupid, good for nothing boys taking up more space than they have a right to do'. I raise a hand to my cheek.

Oh.

I order my feet to stand and move me to the cupboard under the stairs. Crouched by the small cupboard door, I struggle with my heavy trunk. My body feels... so weak... I hear a noise, a soft, pitiful noise. My eyes find Aunt Petunia, lingering on the stair case. Her eyes are shining...

Are those... tears?

Why is she crying...?

With a blank face and blank heart, I turn from her and walk out the door.

Once again I'm watching the houses zoom by in colourful blurs, smattered with streaks of green that I presume are trees. I'm lost in myself, in my mind. I'm sure my eyes are glazed and far-off, staring into a vacuum only I can see.

And something touches my leg. From far away I feel a heavy hand sliding up my thigh... higher. Touching me. Touching... me... no, don't... no, stop it, I don't like it. Don't touch me. Don't touch me... I scream at my body to move, but it's numb and won't react but I don't want anyone touching me like this. Why is he touching me like this? I don't like it, I want it to stop, but my chest is constricted and air won't pass through my lungs and my heart is rabbiting in its cage, demanding to jump out of my throat. I should scream. Scream goddamn you! Don't... NO! STOP IT! STOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOPITSTOP—I gasp, and my eyes roll back.

The hand slides away. We're at the station. Frozen inside, I step out of the car, remove my things and walk inside the Kings Cross.

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_To be continued..._

[1] 'Cold Heaven', written by W. B. Yeats.

[2] 'The End', written by Amy Lowell.

[3] From 'Music, When Soft Voices Die', written by Percy Bysshe Shelly.


	2. Chapter I Prosthesis

**The Poet**

:: narrated mostly by Harry Potter ::

:: Authored by _just a bit potty _::

_A rocky start to the school year._

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See warnings and disclaimer in chapter one. Oh, and the first poem here is by me. blush

Just a warning: Some of you are wanting me to stop with the torturing as soon as possible, but I warn you it _will_ get worse before it gets better. Much worse. That's all I'm gonna say.

To my reviewers

_Special Thanks to:_

wanderingwolf, LoMaRiBa, kellyerielf, Loki Ishtaar, Ningchan, MidnightMagic312, TA, Lilybee2003, erw, alicia, plumsy321, Katlyn, black pudding thief, rulerofthecows, katrina, Belle, NayNymic, Sylver Phantasy, Chris, crissy, DevilsDarling (thou who art 2 lazy 2 sign in :P), Lady Alekto, GoddessMoonLady, Lyla Snape, Spirit of Paradise, Fen, '...', walters, Mellissa Riddle, Shiv, Danie, DcSolstice, Lina Metallium, Fate, ZonyBone, Relle,Lady FoxFire, tati1, capitulatedDream, ladydarkness1212, iunjl, and mojo-jojo241!

Ko-chan to Ya-chan: Thankyou so much for reviewing and allowing me to use your poem. Domo arigato!! (I think that is the limit of my Japanese --')

Remii: I'm glad you liked the way I put in the poetry, I wasn't sure it would work out at first.

Dragenphly: Thankyou so much, it was really difficult writing this, I'm glad I pulled it off.

_Answers to questions:_

I don't think the staff will find out right away but eventually they will have to. I'm not exactly sure how this will be resolved at the moment, but we'll see. I think you'll all be surprised at how everyone reacts when they see Harry, too ;),

I would also like to say, for the person who asked, no I cannot make it that Vernon did not rape Harry. I know it is a horrible, terrible and painful thing to happen and it should never happen to anyone, but it is part of my story. If you can not handle it and the emotions it invokes, you do not have to read it, as I know it is a painful subject... very painful...

Sorry if I missed anybody!

I really hope I live up to everyone's expectations of me...

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**Chapter I** - Prosthesis, _the return._

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"_In truth, it was a passing glance_

_When turning, cast a look askance_

_And subtle though it was I saw your eyes_

_inside and_

_outside_

_And subtle though it was, I saw your pain._

_In truth, it was dismissed as such_

_When thinking it did not mean much_

_And even though I saw such in your eyes_

_anger and_

_sadness_

_And even though I saw it, I did nothing._

_In lies, I really did not care_

_When in your arms it was but air_

_And empty your embrace, your eyes were dead_

_dull and_

_haunted_

_And empty was your gaze, for you were dead."_

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It seems my feet are lead as they scuff along the concrete. For my life, I cannot lift them higher than an inch, and they drag until I feel the worn soles splitting even more. With my trolley jutting out before me like the front of a car, I simply bow my head and plough through the milling crowds. I ignore the affronted grunts and disapproving stares that come my way, and instead focus on how I got here. There's a mist in my mind, one I can't seem to shine through, and no matter how much I think... and think... and think... I don't remember how I came to the Kings Cross station.

There's a black hole in my head, sucking up my memories. Truthfully, I only wholly remember a scant few days of my summer. Truthfully, I don't know if I want to remember.

The voices around me merge into a drone of mindless babbling, and it makes my head ache. They talk, and talk, and talk, of nothing, of everything, yet it's all meaningless and I just want them to just shut up! Their inane chatter vibrates through my skull and makes me hurry forward to my destination—anything to escape this... noise.

To my left, a squealing child beats his tiny fist at his mother's leg.

I shuffle past quickly, keeping my head down and wishing for the noise to stop.

With a deep breath sucked through my aching throat (why does my throat hurt?), I risk a glance upward, and feel a tug in my chest that might be relief.

Poised ahead is the dull brick support between platforms nine and ten. Hovering around the hidden entrance, I see two bobbing heads of red and one of bushy brown, and already I can hear the giddy laughter.

I know they'll see me, and they'll see how ugly and decrepit I've become. They'll see my sunken face and the lily white skin that clings to my bones. They'll see the purple colours blooming over my skin like flowers. Something inside me doesn't want them to see that. They shouldn't have to see me when I'm dead like this. It's none of their _business_.

Soothing tingles burst all over my face, and all of a sudden I feel different. Something in my brain tells me it's safe to go on, that they won't see anything wrong.

It makes me ill, yet out of habit a smile twists my chapped red lips. It burns my mouth to do so, but I keep it there, and force my mind to the here, the now. I don't want to remember anything, I decide. I don't want to remember why these holes in my mind are gaps as big as weeks. I don't want to.

Don't... want to...

"Harry!"

"Harry, there you are!"

At the happy voices of my friends, I order my heart to do something other than beat coldly. To _feel_ something. I should feel thrilled that they greet me with smiles. But my heart's far too entrenched in ice to do more than pump my body with cold, callous blood. Instead I adjust my taped glasses that have slid off my nose, and roll my trolley towards their frantically waving forms. Closer... I see their shining smiles from a few short metres away. I venture closer, that fake smile burning more and more.

I'm enveloped in warm, strong arms.

My stomach rolls and my body tries to jump away, an urge I know I shouldn't have. There's no reason I should feel that way... but my body stiffens against its will until the smothering arms let go. I stare up into Ron's puzzled, freckle-smattered face and for an instant I think he sees how empty I am as he stares into my eyes. My dead, empty eyes.

"Ron, you surprised me," I say, by way of greeting, and force my lips to stretch wider. Force my voice to sound happy. He seems to take that at face value and gives a genuine grin of his own.

"I missed you, mate. We had a great summer, I'll tell you on the train."

"Hey, Harry."

A much smaller hand touches my own, and I turn to see Hermione with her arms open wide for a hug. Wondering why my body now won't stop trembling, I lean in and wrap my arms around her. She's as tall as I am now, which is not very much.

Finally I pull back and stare at my friends. Distantly I wonder why they can't see how sickly I am, how thin and gaunt and pale, how my hair brushes my shoulders in a lacklustre curtain, the ends split and dry. I remind myself of Snape. Yet to them it seems I'm normal Harry, the same hair, the same glasses... the same.

"Harry, you've broken your glasses. Honestly, what do you do over the summer to get them in such a condition?"

That's something I would like to know, as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a stonily silent Ginny, her arms folded over her chest. She doesn't talk to me anymore, not after last year... but... I can't remember why.

"Come on, we'd better find a seat on the Hogwarts Express before it leaves without us."

While the others follow Hermione through the barrier, trusting that I'll follow, I turn and glance at the round, flat face of the station's clock.

Ten fifty-five.

I think: if I miss the train, how will I get to school? I don't have Ron's Ford Anglia; I don't have people to rescue me. I would alone.

And that doesn't really bother me at all.

My eyes are transfixed by the white-faced clock, but then the scenery is changing as I numbly push through the barrier, uncaring whether anyone sees or not. Ahead I notice my friends climbing onto the train, expecting me to be right behind them.

Like the walking dead, I wheel my trolley to where everyone's luggage is being loaded onto the train, and waft after my friends in a daze...

* * *

"_I stand amid the roar  
Of a surf-tormented shore,  
And I hold within my hand  
Grains of the golden sand-  
How few! yet how they creep  
Through my fingers to the deep,  
While I weep- while I weep!  
O God! can I not grasp  
Them with a tighter clasp?  
O God! can I not save  
One from the pitiless wave?  
Is all that we see or seem  
But a dream within a dream?"_ [1]

* * *

Somehow I find myself seated next to Hermione.

What...? What happened... why can't I remember how I got here? Narrowing my eyes in thought, I stare out the window and choke.

My throat closes up and I can't breathe.

Can't breathe. Breathe. Can't. Can't breathe. Air. Breathe. It's my body... my body is protesting, it doesn't want to breathe anymore, but inside I feel nothing. Deep inside, I am nothing, there's nothing there and I'm not even afraid anymore.

Was I afraid before?

My eyes are locked on the blurred scenery as it rushes by, and I feel a phantom hand on my leg. Crawling up my thigh like a spider. Bad spider. Touching me...

"Harry? Harry, what's wrong?" Someone shakes my shoulder and I realise I've been clutching at my seat, my nails digging into the leather. Leather... leather seats. Just like— "Harry!"

I snap my head around and stare at Hermione. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ron, white as a sheet, sitting opposite us. Hermione touches my cheek, and though pain flares from the bruise that's there, I can't really feel it. It's as if it's not my pain, not my bruise. It's someone else's.

Hermione's eyes are sad and worried, but it's all so distant... why is she so worried? I peel off my glasses, feeling ill. I don't want to see anymore. Under the pretence of polishing the thick lens with my shirt, I ignore them... when did my glasses get fixed? They were broken only a little while ago...

"Harry, please say something," Hermione's fretful voice cuts through my haze. Unblinking, I slide my glasses back on and stare. Right into her wide eyes. "Harry, stop it. Say something." There's a harder edge to her voice now.

Fake laughter jumps into my voice, "Just trying to freak you out, guys. Did it work?" Just pretending to be happy makes my stomach rebel violently. I feel bile rising in my throat.

"Jeez, Harry, that was a pretty dumb joke—you really had us worried!" exclaims Ron, shaking his head. The red of his hair looks dazzling from the corner of my eye, and my stomach protests further.

"Sorry, you were all just being such worry-warts, it was too easy."

"Harry James Potter that was a _horrible_ prank!" Hermione's genuinely hurt, but I don't feel remorse. I don't feel anything.

"Sorry, guys, I won't do it again," there's that voice again, that sickly sweet voice that isn't mine, but still comes from my mouth. My cracked and bleeding mouth. The stranger in my mouth tells Hermione that I'm looking forward to this year, that we will learn a lot of interesting things. Hermione's eyes light up in a way mine can't and she starts lecturing us on the importance of studying for the NEWTs. I don't really listen, but my hands are twitching. I want to write again. I want to write down all these jumbled words in my head before I forget them...

The train lets out a trill whistle and grinds to a halt.

* * *

"_I am dead to the world  
Unfeeling, cold, indifferent  
A frail, soulless shell  
What is illusion, what is real?  
The line between eludes me  
I cannot tell one day from the next  
A dream is but a respite from the nightmare,  
The one I live in day by day  
Yet to me the two are both the same  
Unending is the cycle  
Acting out the role of the living  
When in truth, I am but a corpse  
I cannot feel depression  
I cannot feel the pain  
I cannot feel anguish  
Inside, I am empty  
Lost to all I once knew-  
I am dead to the world." _[2]

* * *

My bed is a cold cloud I lay upon, drowning in the moonlight that pools around me. The pillows, stiffed with the softest of feathers, make my head ache. My hand twitches, aching from the long hours of writing, writing, writing. Words I don't even know. Ron and the others are all snoring peacefully in their respective beds, dreaming happy dreams. Waiting for tomorrow.

Dinner had been endless for me. The fake smile twisting my lips had pained me more and more as the evening wore on. Food kept blooming on my plate, hot, delicious food, begging to be eaten. The mere sight of it had me twinging in disgust. I didn't want to eat, I wanted to _write_. The silence in my soul was begging for release. Something... something important had to be written.

Friends pulled my attention this way and that, their mouths babbling a mile a minute about every little thing until I wanted to slap the noise from their faces. That would shut them up. Instead I grinned along with them, laughed at their stupid jokes and pretended to actually care about winning Quidditch, when all I wanted to do was flee the crowded hall and fling myself out the highest window, just to escape their idiotic chatter.

My eyes flicked briefly toward the head table, and I wondered if Snape ever felt the same? He looked as though someone had stuffed lemons into his mouth then taped a dead rat underneath his nose. His fork pushed the food around his plate under pretence of eating, but I noticed none of it ever actually made it to his mouth. Just like I was doing.

The plate full of food once more filled my vision; I didn't want to look at Snape any more. Something about him reminded me of myself. Perhaps it was that he looked just as dead as I felt. The war has really been hard on him, I know. I've seen.

Last year, his roll as a spy for the light was uncovered. Now, every day Voldemort summons him, but he cannot go. The pain he endures as a result must be torture, yet here he is, forced to continue every day as if nothing is wrong while the Order searches for something to break the spell on his Dark Mark. A hand around my heart squeezes tightly, and for a moment I struggle to breathe... But then it's gone and someone is pounding my back, forcing a gasp from my lips as I turn to glare at them.

"Jeez, Harry! Don't look so put off, I was just congratulating you!" the indignant face of Seamus Finnegan stares back at me, his eyebrows stretching up to his hairline.

"Congratulate me...?" I force myself to ask, lowering my eyes to the tablecloth.

"For being _Head Boy_, of course!" he sounds as if he thinks I'm a right prat. He's probably right, but right now I just don't care. An abrupt silence followed, as those around me turned to stare in surprise.

Hermione's sharp tones sliced through the sudden silence: "You're Head Boy, Harry? Why didn't you tell us?"

I risked it, and stole a glimpse at Ron's face. It was slowly turning purple with jealous fury. When he spoke, his voice was laced with poison, spitting words at my face, "You're Head Boy, and you didn't tell me? I thought we were friends, Harry!"

I stared at him for a long time, silence wrapped around me like a blanket. Finally I rose from my seat, and with my head high, strode from the hall. In truth, I was just glad to get out of there.

I didn't hear Hermione's motherly tones scolding Ron.

I didn't hear Seamus' incensed voice asking just what had happened.

I didn't hear the Great Hall suddenly light up with Harry-centric conversation.

Didn't they have their own lives?

Why did they have to invade mine?

Why did Ron care that I was Head Boy?

I didn't.

I didn't care, as I burst through the large doors, startling the gaggle of fresh first years and Old McGonagall, that I should be back in there, ready to witness the Sorting and welcome the frightened newcomers to this prestigious school.

I ignored Professor McGonagall's outraged squawking as I stalked away, drawing the following silence around my like a cloak.

I just didn't care.

* * *

"_In midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish,  
Of the look at first of the mortally wounded--of that indescribable  
look;  
Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide,  
I dream, I dream, I dream.  
Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains;  
Of skies, so beauteous after a storm--and at night the moon so  
unearthly bright,  
Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather  
the heaps,  
I dream, I dream, I dream.  
Long, long have they pass'd--faces and trenches and fields;  
Where through the carnage I moved with a callous composure--or away  
from the fallen,  
Onward I sped at the time--But now of their forms at night,  
I dream, I dream, I dream." _[3]

* * *

It was hours later when Hermione came and found me, riding the staircases, with her hands planted on her hips and harsh words dripping from her tongue. They sped past my ears with all the meaning of a baby's babble, but I forced myself to nod pleasantly and spout words of apology, along with the promise to console Ron's bruise ego and wounded feelings.

As Head Girl, she doled out the password that I'd missed in my haste to leave the Hall, and we trickled back toward the Gryffindor tower, she speaking earnestly about what had happened in the Great Hall, how many new House members we had, while I listened dutifully. By the time we reached the entrance portrait, with the Fat Lady dozing peacefully, her head nodding to one side, my eyes were blurry and any energy I'd had left was draining in a puddle beneath my feet, leaving me cold and boneless. Hermione seemed to sense my tiredness, as she hooked her arm around mine and led us through after awakening the portrait with a murmur of _'Knutsickles'_.

By now, most of Gryffindor had toddled off to bed, and only a few lingered around the common room. Hermione pulled me toward the roaring hearth, where Ron sat petulantly, flicking through a book as if studying fervently. I didn't have the heart to tell him it was upside down.

His bright red head shot up as soon as he realised we were there, his blue eyes shooting daggers at me. Something inside me cracked a little, and I felt infinitely more tired as I stared into him. Minutes crawled by, with Hermione's determined grip on my bruised arm and Ron's hurt glaring.

I... I don't know what he saw then, in my eyes... It... could have been anything. Reflecting just how numb I felt, gazing at him as his anger melted slowly. Then with a sigh, he averted his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry, Harry. It was wrong of me to get so mad at you."

What else could I do but accept his apology?

Now I'm here curled on my blankets, staring at the tear stained parchment scattered around me. My chest aches irritatingly, and heavy weights urge my eyes to close. But I can't stop staring... I know if I read those pieces of paper, I will remember... the gaping holes in my memory will fill, and I'll know why my body is suffering, why my skin is purple with bruises no one can see.

The lids of my eyes slam shut against my cheeks, too weak to stay open. My breath escapes me in short gasps, and I can feel sweat beading on my forehead. I'm just... so tired... but... I...

"_The weeping child could not be heard..."_

I don't want to sleep. Something... something always happens to be when I sleep.

"_...The weeping parents wept in vain..."_

Whispered words drift through my consciousness, voiceless, bodiless. Are they... are they... my words?

"_...They stripped him to his little shirt..."_

I'm... so cold. Tired. But... something bad will happen if I fall asleep...

"_...And bound him in an iron chain..."_

Falling... asleep...

"_And burned him in a holy place  
Where many had been burned before;  
The weeping parents wept in vain.  
Are such thing done on Albion's shore?"_ [4]

I'm so cold.

* * *

_To be continued..._  
  
[1] 'A Dream Within A Dream', classic poem by Edgar Allen Poe

[2] This one was actually from a reviewer of mine, Ko-chan to Ya-chan, written in honour of this fic. Thankyou!

[3] 'In Midnight Sleep', written by Walt Whitman. I read this one, and some for some reason thought of Harry.

[4] The last two stanzas from the poem 'A Little Boy Lost' by William Blake.


	3. Chapter II Psychosis

**The Poet**

:: narrated mostly by Harry Potter ::

:: Authored by _just a bit potty _::

_Harry's slowly losing himself, and a surprise at dinner doesn't help matters._

* * *

Rating, disclaimer and warnings back in chapter one. I HOPE YOU READ IT.

REVIEW THANK-YOUS: Victoria May; UnKnown; craft; Allesa; n0b0dys-ang31; Wyall Jared; Benjis VIP; Y401-F4N; Tinanit Enozym; Dragenphly; Fate; anewlymadefan; Lina Metallium (HARRY—err, I mean—HAPPY belated BIRTHDAY).

Snake-Boi: Thank you so much for your advice! I took in all into consideration and I think you're right about Harry and Draco, rather than Harry and Snape And also, I like the idea of Harry spiralling into complete apathy—it will probably happen soon. Something Draco does in this chapter will trigger it, but that's all I can say ;)

Thank you all so much for your helpful advice and your reviews (I wonder if I can make it up to 80 with this chapter? Eh? Hint, hint?) And I hope I live up to your expectations! Oh and remember how I said it will get worse before it gets better? Well... this chapter is the beginning of the worseness!

* * *

**Chapter II** - Psychosis_, classes begin._

* * *

I dreamt of hands.

Hands... thick and intrusive sliding over my skin.

Over me, into me, under me, through me.

Ripping me...

* * *

"_He wakes up screaming_

_The dark receding_

_The missing pieces_

_Falling all around_

_His breath is laboured_

_A dream not savoured_

_Inside the memories_

_Are breaking him down_

'_I ache for peace,' he says_

'_For happy dreams,' he says_

'_I want to heal,' he says,_

'_Save me from this pain—'" [1]_

* * *

When I woke, screams stuck in my throat, the dream clung to my consciousness like a suffocating serpent, squeezing the life from my body. I felt so tired, as if I hadn't slept at all. A bitter pang of nausea stayed with me for rest of the day, hanging like a foreboding cloud.

The morning passed with rolling leisure, filled with my sloth-like dorm mates loudly voicing their complaints that Potions would be the first class of the day. Their tongues dripped with vulgar insults about Professor Snape's greasy hair, his sallow skin and perpetually sour mood.

But I remembered from last night, and the way he plucked impotently at his food, and again thought... that maybe that wasn't all there was to him. Hiding deep inside himself, behind his scowling face and scathing tongue. He sparked a morbid curiosity that I hadn't felt anything like in a long while...the same kind of fascination that enveloped me as I imagined just what it would be like if I took a dive of the astronomy tower. Would I fly, or—

My train of thought wobbled of its rail and diverted to another track with Ron's loud protests, "Honestly, it's like they're punishing us just for leaving for the summer—sending us to Potions class first thing! I just know we'll lose millions of points—"

"Millions, Ron?" interrupted Seamus, arching a brow.

"Well... you know what I mean," Ron offered a cheeky grin and rubbed the back of his neck, "Anyways, I'm just saying we're bound to lose heaps of points! I bet he gets off on it, slimy git. Picking on us Gryffindors. I bet it makes him all randy just to see us get upset. I can just imagine him after class, sneaking back to his rooms for a quick wank before the next load of victims arrives!"

"Ron, you sick sod, that's bloody disgusting!" I had to agree with Dean—that _was_ disgusting... it made my stomach roll unpleasantly, and I had to swallow rapidly to keep the bile from rising up my aching throat. But... why did the thought of the professor—or anyone—getting horny make me feel so... so sick? God... I just don't even know anymore... why does my throat still hurt? Maybe I'm ill.

"Yeah, you just watch his face when he takes points next," smirked Ron, though looking a little green himself, probably more at the thought of Snape jer...jerki... p-pleasuring himself, more than anything. "Can't you just picture it?" he ploughed onward, "Snape sitting there with his hand in his pants: 'Ohhh, ten points from Gryffindor... twenty... thirty... Great Merlin, _one hundred points from Gryffindor!_'"

Ron's vulgar impersonation had the boys bursting with raucous laughter, rolling on their beds with their arms clutching their sides. Even shy Neville had trouble containing himself.

It had me fleeing the room and the dizzying thoughts pushing at my mind. I found myself face down in the nearest toilet of the Gryffindor boys' bathroom. The minutes crawled by as I collapsed there in a sickly heap, my body quivering, too tired to care that vomit was spilling down my robes.

I felt filthy, unclean, curled up on the cold tile and soiled with my own rejected food, but I just... didn't... care. As if... as if it wasn't happening to me.

"Crikey, Harry, didn't realise you thought Snape was _that_ disgusting," came Ron's uncomfortably concerned voice from outside the stall. The door swung open and there he stood, avoiding the sight of me for as long as possible. I'm vaguely relieved the others hadn't trailed along behind him. The bathroom was, luckily, not too far away from the seventh year dorms and I shuddered to think of the prodding questions they'd poke me with if I'd vomited in a more public place. It wasn't their business.

"Sorry, mate," that same cheerful stranger that had inhabited my mouth all of yesterday made himself known again, "Just been feeling a bit ill today."

"Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey? You look like crap, Harry," Ron suggested, twisting the fabric of his hand-me-down robes, seemingly disquieted to be standing here while I painted a pathetic picture on the bathroom floor, my cheek pressed against a toilet seat.

I wanted to take his advice and shove it back down his throat, but what would be the point? It would just provoke more unwanted questions.

"Yeah, maybe," I said.

If the world just left me alone, it would be a much better place.

* * *

"_O Rose, thou art sick!  
The invisible worm  
That flies in the night,  
In the howling storm,  
  
Has found out thy bed  
Of crimson joy:  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy."_ [2]

* * *

The alliaceous aroma of potions long since made alerts me to the fact that I'm already in class. Time seemed to pass so quickly once Ron had helped my sad existence of the bathroom tile. I hardly remember anything that has happened between now and then.

Hermione's unruly nest of curls bobs up and down beside me, as she alternates between squinting intently at the chalkboard and scribbling furiously in her Potions notebook. Snape's stormily silent self shadows the front of the classroom, hovering back and forth like a deathly wraith. My hand is gripping a ruffled quill, and I glance down to realise I've been mechanically copying down notes, like a good little student. But... but I don't remember any of it. I've come from sprawling on the Gryffindor boys' bathroom floor to being cleaned and seated in the Potions lab. A strange panic grips my chest—I... I hadn't even realised. How had I gotten to Potions? What... (_my vision clouds; a blow to the head_...) what is happening to me?

A harsh puff of air escapes my suddenly dry lips, and I glance down again to find a messy scrawl darting from left to right at incredible speed. I'm... writing... that is _my_ hand, writing. My eyes are glued to the script rapidly appearing as my quill races across the page.

"_...Forget this rotten world... [it] is but a carcass; thou art fed by it, but as a worm that carcass bred... why shouldst thou, poor worm, consider more, when this world will grow better than before, than those thy fellow fellow-worms do think upon that carcass's last resurrection..."_ The words drive on, spiralling down the page in a frenzy of rambunctious print: _"...Forget this world, and scarce think of it so... to be thus stupid is alacrity..."_ [3]

Forget this world.

Forget this world.

"_...Forget this world... forget... forget... forget..."_

The word bleeds out over and over, bolder and bolder, crowding my page in blotted black ink. My breath flees my lungs desperately, spills into the air as a harsh gasp. I stare numbly as the knife-sharp nib of my quill tears a gash in my parchment... a giant 'X' of denial, slashing the page into near-quarters.

_Oh, god..._

"Mr. Potter," a silky voice purrs, spiked with venom, "If I had known that revising the Draught of Peace would distress you this much, I might have issued a warning beforehand—or a sample of the potion itself, as it seems you need it. Ten points from Gryffindor—I trust this is acceptable to you, Mr. Potter? I wouldn't want to..." pausing, his glare pointedly darts over the torn parchment before me, "...provoke your temper."

As his insidious tones slide over me, I try hard to summon up the righteous anger that I should be feeling. But... what would be the point? I'm just... too exhausted to care. My body aches annoyingly, a dull throb that pulses through my veins with each thud of my heart. Even the knotted tips of my hair seem to sting. I manage to nod slightly at Snape's sneering provocation, not even bothering to make a show and take the bait. Instead I cast my eyes to my hand, curled around an abruptly crumpled, ripped piece of yellowed parchment, and refuse to acknowledge the words that soil it. It's funny... yesterday morning, I could have sworn that my hand was a twisted, ugly thing, deformed and bruised in a deep purple. Now, the pale skin is flawed only by a pale freckle, smooth and creamy, only aching dully. Was it... all in my head? That horrid, sallow face I remember seeing in the mirror? Was it... all a dream?

The skin between my brow wrinkles uncomfortably as I frown and trace an invisible pattern over my slender wrist. So soft...

Snape's overbearing presence floats away in a flourish of black robes, his knife-like voice cutting through the tense silence, and I sink low into my seat. From the corner of my eye, I catch Hermione's worried glance, but I don't really care what over-analysed thoughts could be buzzing through her brain right now. Ron's long fingers brush against mine briefly from my right, a simple touch conveying a loaded apology; for Snape's obvious targeting of me. I know he must be worried about me but... I'm not really sure if he really _did_ find me in the bathroom this morning. Was that a dream, too?

Have I dreamed it all?

Tingles rush over my body, the kind of feeling you get when someone is burning their eyes into you, and break the circle my thoughts are running.

I flick my gaze upward, and meet a pair of fierce silver eyes, glistening with intense curiosity.

* * *

"_Free of memory and of hope,  
limitless, abstract, almost future,  
the dead man is not a dead man: he is death.  
Like the God of the mystics,  
of Whom anything that could be said must be denied,  
the dead one, alien everywhere,  
is but the ruin and absence of the world.  
We rob him of everything,  
we leave him not so much as a colour or syllable:  
here, the courtyard which his eyes no longer see,  
there, the sidewalk where his hope lay in wait.  
Even what we are thinking,  
he could be thinking;  
  
we have divvied up like thieves  
the booty of nights and days."_ [4]

* * *

Throughout the day those eyes stayed with me. Ever watching, ever searing into the back of my head. Cold, aluminiferous eyes. In Transfiguration, they drilled holes in the side of my head. At Lunch, their carnassial stare stretched across the hall. In Charms, I felt their chilly gaze raking down my back, until I itched to crawl from my own skin and slither away into a dark corner. 

Hermione noticed it, too.

It's dinner now, the Great Hall flooded with tired, hungry students, ready and eagre to wolf down their meals so they can simply forget the day's troubles and play until bed. Hermione eats delicately beside me, nibbling on a plump leg of chicken. Her small hand taps my hunched shoulder, politely asking for attention. I slide my vision toward her, still distracted by those same eyes that have been heavy on me the entire day.

"Draco Malfoy has been watching you all day, Harry," she mutters quietly.

I whip my gaze to the Slytherin table, in time to see Malfoy duck his head in the pretence of studying his meal.

"If he wants to watch me, let him," I say softly, bowing my head. Who cares what Malfoy does? He's always up to _something_; he may as well just do it already. Why does he even bother?

"I'd just be careful, if I was you. Who knows what he might be planning?" that's Hermione, ever willing to offer good advice... or shove it in your ear if you're not listening.

"Maybe he's in _love_ with you, Harry!" Ron laughs, grinning ear to ear.

I realise I should be affronted, insulted even. I go to laugh, to deny, to do anything, but as soon as my heart comes to that gaping emptiness inside in me, all I can do is slump further down. I just don't care. All this laughter... it just makes me feel so tired, and old. The wide smile stretched across my lips burns and wavers, so hard to maintain. I feel my eyes drooping.

"Honestly, Ron, is that all you think about? Malfoy could be thinking up something positively horrid and that's what you automatically think of?"

"What?"

"Sex."

"Hermione!"

"Well, it's true."

"I wasn't thinking about sex... not just then, anyway. I said _love_, actually."

Hermione snorts.

A foul sickness rolls in my stomach, and I curl my body protectively. _Hurts..._

"You look tired mate, maybe you shouldn't have stayed up so late last night," Ron says seriously, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. I sit up a little straighter, eyeing him with dull curiosity.

"What makes you think I was up late last night?"

"Well, we found all that paper around you this morning while you were still asleep; figured you stayed up studying or something."

I place my eyes on him slowly, peering from beneath my lashes. "You didn't read them, did you?"

Ron's face scrunches up as if someone had just shoved rotten fish into his mouth, "As if, mate. Why would I want to read _homework_ first thing in the morning? Tch... I put them on top of your trunk."

I drop my gaze, "Good."

Suddenly my meal seems even less appealing than before.

The low drum of voices in the hall dies from my hearing, leaving only the white wash of silence behind. Their mouths still move, heads still thrown back mid-laughter, but it's all... so quiet. A silent Ron shrugs and turns across the table at Seamus, whose mute laughter has made him choke on his drink. To my left, Hermione's lips shape aphonic syllables as she dictates to Lavender Brown. So quiet...

I look up, and meet Draco Malfoy's eyes across the hall. Slowly, a peculiar smirk twists his lips, too forced to be genuine, and he holds up a crumpled piece of parchment, slashed almost to quarters in a telltale 'X'... stained with Never-Spill Impervious ink, coloured black, number thirty-four: obsidian...

My breath quickens.  
  
At that exact moment, an inconspicuous little owl flutters down from above, dropping from its claws a small note. Right onto my plate. I feel all the curious eyes pin me down like a helpless insect, itching to pry and poke into my life. _Why would Harry Potter be getting an owl at dinner?_

I stare and stare at the letter, sitting innocently against the cold silver of my plate. As if it isn't there. As if my eyes alone could make it disappear. I don't want to know what is on that note. I don't. Don't... want to...

_(Please—I don't want to—No!—don't make me—please—)_

"Harry. Harry! Aren't you going to open your letter? Harry! Are you all right? Harry?"

The noise floods back in a dizzy rush, washing over me in a wave of nonsense. I'm not even sure who spoke, but I find my hands reaching for it. Unfolding...

* * *

_To be continued..._  
  
I'm not entirely pleased with this chapter; I may come back and redo it at a later date. It's not as long as I would have liked it to be, and I would have made it longer, except I thought that would be a good place to end it. I try to make them about 10 or 11 pages in WordPerfect, but this one sadly only made it up to about 7. :( Nevertheless, I hope it lived up to your expectations and was enjoyable to read!

Thankyou!

NOTE: Reviews inspire faster chapters! I had this one done for a few days now, but I was waiting to see how many reviews I could get. I'm very greedy. See if I can make it up to 80? Or 90? Heck, even a 100? :P Pretty please?  
  
[1] An untitled poem that I wrote specifically for the purpose of this story, since I couldn't find one that fitted written by a more classical and better-classed poet. No stealing (as if you'd want to ')!

[2] 'The Sick Rose', by William Blake

[3] From 'On the Progress of the Soul' written by John Donne. (I keep wanting to write 'Don Jon' LoL --)

[4] 'Remorse For Any Death', by Jorge Luis Borges


	4. Chapter III Déjà vu

**The Poet**

:: narrated mostly by Harry Potter ::

:: Authored by _just a bit potty _::

**:: key ::**

_(text)_ = flashback

_text_ = thoughts

_As Harry slips further into the abyss of his own mind, all it takes is a little push to send him over the edge... or a big one._

* * *

**_not a true update. I was just irritated with some of the formatting so I changed it. I'm half way through the next chapter, but I won't post it until I get more reviews :P makes me feel nice to know I'm wanted._**

* * *

******Pre-story notes:** I know, I know, it's been forever. Long story short, my computer went crazy on me and needs to be reformatted. Along with that is horrible writers block. Sorry! I STRUGGLED to get this chapter out. I'm still not happy with it, but it's because when I started this fic, I was all unhappy and stuff, but now I'm like, happy so... it's hard getting into that frame of mind. I do have to say that this chapter IS **purposely vague and wishy-washy**, as Harry slowly loses more of himself... Okay, so: 

**1.** Big announcement: My other fic, _A Wet Tale_ (my merman!Harry fic) is being rewritten, revamped, the works. Its new title will be _Fantasy Impromptu_, and so far I have two chapters done with the third in progress. Basically the same plot, but hopefully without as many plot-holes. It will be a while before it's up, but if you like the old story you better save it or something 'cause it won't be like that for long (it'll be better, hopefully, hehe).

**Review thanks**: **Lade Alekto**, **strangled lies** (thanks a bunch, hehehe, my flamer bodyguard), **Wyall Jared**, **Benjis VIP**, **Moondance&Starwind**, **Jessica**, **Gia**, **Anabelle426**, **Ningchan** (I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted...?), **Reese** **Craven** (thanks a bunch), **chocolatedemon**, **Ophelia** **Adrasteia** (actually, I didn't take Eng. Lit., the poetry curriculum at my school was for shit, I just love poetry), **'...**' (what a simple name), **ella**, **Avarice**, **obsidianpoet**, **Jessica**, **darkangel, Sinilu Silverspell**, **Lina Metallium**, **Sabby-chan Yaoi Fan, Dragenphly** (all will be revealed eventually...), **Linda, one-by-one-the-penguines-steal-my-sanity** (If you're still around and interested in beta reading... mew? Looks like I need one...), **NiaSphinx** (thanks for doing your part!), **HpDeVoTeE, Alarivana Ciaernu** (PLEASE, if you have a poem, I would love to see it, please email it too me), **ag**, **Goddess-Shalamar, Wen, MissLilyStar** (THANK YOU ALL!!!!)

**Snake-Boi:** your review was very detailed and to be honest intimidated me a little blush but only because I don't know if I can write as well as I did in the first two chapters. I try, but it's hard getting into it again... I will probably rewrite a lot of this, but I'd like to get more of the fic up and keep the story going. Hopefully this chapter is worth a review!

**Ko-chan to Ya-chan**: If you have anymore poems you'd like me to incorporate into this fic, I'd love 'em! E-mail them to me? I didn't use the one in your review yet because I don't have your express permission, so........ please?

**Mojo-jojo241**: I'm sorry I didn't reply before, I completely forgot. Of course you can recommend my fic if you want, no worries .'

_**Sorry if I missed anyone. Your reviews inspired me to try and get over my writer's block! Thank you all! And the plot rolls on...............**_

* * *

**Chapter III** – Déjà vu_, Harry's losing it._

* * *

The wall hasn't moved since I got here. No matter how my eyes drill into its vertical slope, no matter how immobile I sit, how silent my lips are the wall has not changed. Not as the hours slither by, one minute melting into the next. Not as each trembling breath wings from my lips on stale air. If I refuse to blink, hoping to catch even a whisper of a change, I see nothing. The wall remains as lifeless and unmoving as it has always been. 

Before, when I _did _close my eyes, it changed.

The sweeping banners of red and gold, pinned-up photographs of smiling families, the scars and pockmarks that each boy to have lived here before us has left in his wake... they all vanished. And all I would see is a naked, off-white wall, blotted with one inky shadow that loomed ever closer. The image burnt forever onto my eyelids.

Now, when I close my eyes, it still changes.

But instead of a shadow-marred wall, I see a small square of paper, emblazoned with one simple demand:

**MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT ON THE LAST FRIDAY OF THE MONTH.**

It means nothing to me, yet rouses a dull throng of trepidation all the same. My memory stretches back, searching the past for any hint of what it could mean. Have I... made an appointment and forgotten? But who would I want to meet so late at night? Lately, these gaps in my mind are widening, gulping down memories like a starving beast. Common sense begs me to seek help, to tell someone, because I _need_ to remember. Remember... something important. Something...

But, dear god, I don't want to.

There are so many things I want to forget. But, ironically enough, I don't remember exactly what those things are... only that I want to be rid of their memories forever... Which is the whole point, I suppose. Right now, my mind is just a road full of gaping potholes, and I can't really find myself caring. If it was truly important, I would remember, right?

I certainly remember Malfoy's smirking face. Was it just a coincidence that the note arrived precisely when he held up my torn paper? It seems a little _too_ suspicious, if that's so. But then, if Malfoy _did_ send me that note... what did he mean? Did he want to meet me somewhere... to fight? If so, why at midnight? Maybe it wasn't from Malfoy at all...

A mild sigh whispers past my cold lips. I don't even know why I'm bothering with this. If whoever sent me the note thought it was that important, they could come and confront me themselves whenever they wanted. It probably wasn't even for me. It's been days since that dinner, anyway.

I know it's been days, it has to have been, because the mottled, purple flowers blooming over my skin are wilting to a sickly yellow. Blotches of color I don't even remember appearing on my body. Color that only I can see. Painful colors that make me want to cry all the same.

It's funny, but thinking about it now, I haven't the faintest idea what I've been doing this past week... month... summer. I have vague impressions of being slumped in my chair during Charms, of shoveling tasteless food into my mouth at what might have been lunch... or dinner... Of a looming Snape breathing frigid, stale air down my neck after one-too-many failed potions. Some part of me insists that a week has passed.

It's all I have a feeling I won't do too well on any of the upcoming tests, if that's so. For some reason, I find that quite funny. The unfamiliar sense of sardonic humour curls my lips into a hollow smile.

But then... right now I can't find the energy to care. What would be the point anyway? What will worrying accomplish? I don't even have the energy to care. Who cares? I feel like there might be a nice, padded room waiting for me somewhere at St. Mungo's, and the thought doesn't scare me at all. Maybe even next to Gilderoy Lockheart's.

I'm losing my mind...

In this rare moment of clarity, I realize it's true. Somewhere, a part of me is aware that if I go on like this, I will probably fail my NEWTs, ruin my life. But... would that really be so bad? I almost want to laugh... but the only sound that leaves me is a breathy sob that shoots pain through my chest. I think I'm... afraid.

I sigh again, softly, and I can almost see the poison breath of frustration clouding the air before me. I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore.

Eventually, I'm pulled into a silent darkness, lured by the peaceful nothingness around me.

Staring at the wall before me... I don't dare close my eyes.

The wall still changes.

* * *

_"Though we share this humble path, alone  
How fragile is the heart  
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly  
To touch the face of the stars  
Breathe life into this feeble heart  
Lift this mortal veil of fear  
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears  
We'll rise above these earthly cares  
Cast your eyes on the ocean  
Cast your soul to the sea  
When the dark night seems endless  
Please remember me  
Please remember me..." [1]_

* * *

"Open your eyes..." 

_What?_

"Open your eyes, Harry..."

_No... I don't want to..._

"Harry! Open your eyes! It's time for breakfast. Come ooooon, I don't want to eat all by myself! Hermione's doing some 'early morning studying' (ick!) in the library."

_Ron...?_

"Wakey, wakey! Hurry up, I'm hungry!"

My vision clears, and all of a sudden I'm staring at a shock of red hair. I blink slowly, unsure if this is a dream or not. The boisterous laugh that bursts from Ron's madly grinning lips assures me it isn't. I don't know if I'm disappointed or relieved. "Finally, you're up!" he gushes, his twitching, eager hands latching onto mine, hauling my limp body from the bed. I hardly protest. "Good morning, lazy-bones! Get dressed and let's go."

I cast my eyes to the window; is it morning already? Merry light bounces through the gaps in the curtains, spilling over the hardwood floor. Everything else seems so dark in contrast.

Ron's eyes pierce into me, brimming with impatience. I can see the moment his stranglehold on restraint snaps, and then he's by my side, those large hands digging into my bony arms as he pushes me along.

"Don't..." barely a whisper, swallowed by the soundless air as soon as it leaves me. His ears are deaf to my plea. "Stop..."

_(No! Don't! STOP!!! )_

I shove his hands away roughly, drawing into myself as I angle towards my bed. I want to change out of sight. Ron's brash opinion is that I'm being silly. He tells me so, his loud voice bellowing in my ear.

"Don't touch me," I hiss, and then a horrible chill settles in my bones, so cold that tears glitter over my eyes and my heart suddenly drops into my stomach. I've said that before, I know I have... haven't I? I don't... remember...?

_(God... don't touch me... please, don't touch me...)_

Against my will my body keeps dressing itself, until I'm swimming in a too-big cloak that used to fit, donned in my Gryffindor uniform; the red and gold stripes melt into the all-encompassing expanses of grey, draining all brightness from my form. Like the colors around me, my energy slowly bleeds away; I follow Ron from the room.

* * *

The great hall thunders with cheerful voices and bright colours. It's familiar, yet strange at the same time. Everyone looks so... happy. It twists my gut, and for a moment... something inside me aches to be happy, too. But... I don't remember what happy feels like anymore. Now my heart only thuds with ambiguous emotions that come and go, swelling and receding steadily like the tides. Too fleeting to even wonder what they are. 

I sink onto the row of seats beside Ron, and stare at the pile of mush on my plate. Am I depressed? Is that what this is? This... not caring? This... not feeling? This... emptiness? I find my eyes sneaking little glances at the people around me, and feel so awkward. My meandering gaze lands on the imposing shadow of Snape at the head table. I've been watching him a lot, lately. I remember the fervent hatred that I felt for him in my first year. Now... the only emotion I can summon for him, our bitter Potions professor, is a muffled pity.

A memory teases the edges of my mind; that niggling sense of déjà vu that I know I've been having a lot lately. I've done this before, thought these things before. Coal black eyes shift and stab into me, and I know then he knows I've been watching him. I shrink back, and don't watch anymore.

A pressure on my side invokes a wince of pain; shuddering, I swivel to face Hermione's searching gaze. Her petal pink lips pressed tightly together as she glares at my untouched food. I suppose... I'm not really hungry, today. My stomach clenches.

"Harry..." she begins, flicking back a wild tendril of brown hair from her face, "I can't stand this anymore. I've tried to leave you be, but I can't do that any longer! What's wrong with you? Please, tell me." Her voice is low and soft, but underneath the soothing tones is an underlying fear. Is she... worried about something? About me?

I open my mouth to tell her I'm fine, that nothing's wrong. Instead my voice betrays me and remains deathly silent. I just stare and stare into those wide eyes, brimmed with those long, sooty lashes. They close, captured in slow motion and, when they slide open once more, are suddenly sparkling with liquid. Tears?

_(Crouched by the small cupboard door, I struggle with my heavy trunk. My body feels... so weak... I hear a noise, a soft, pitiful noise. My eyes find Aunt Petunia, lingering on the stair case. Her eyes are shining..._

_Are those... tears?_

_Why is she crying...?)_

I blink rapidly to banish vivid image. These flashes of memory (...?) have been plaguing me endlessly for weeks, I know they have. The sudden intrusions of voices that aren't there. I'm almost used to them now. Aunt Petunia had such sad eyes, eyes like Hermione's are now.

"Harry, _please_," she begs, her voice crackling as she struggles to stay quiet, "I'm so worried about you... You don't eat, Ron says you hardly sleep," on my other side, I feel my red-haired friend squirm uncomfortably. They've been talking about me, behind my back, "that you're always _writing_. What do you do that late at night, Harry? Please, Harry. Don't shut us out."

'Don't shut us out...'

_(Don't you dare shut me out boy, you'll regret it... OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!)_

"Please, let us help you..."

_(It's no use crying for help, boy, there's no one here to help you!)_

"Harry..."

A warm hand closes on my shoulder.

"NO!" the cry leaps from my lips of its own will and leaves stunned silence in its wake. A thousand eyes peer at me curiously.

"Harry, my boy," rasps an old, weary voice, and I pivot shakily in my seat to see a tired Dumbledore behind me, "Please join me in my office."

With one last glance around the quiet hall, I nod slowly and numbly propel myself to my feet. Our footsteps echo solemnly as I trail behind the Headmaster, dazed by his gaudy purple robes.

* * *

"_Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,  
A boundary between the things misnamed  
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,  
And a wide realm of wild reality,  
And dreams in their development have breath,  
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;  
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts..."_ **[2]**

* * *

I... I'm not quite sure, but it feels like I haven't moved since I got here. I feel like I'm entrenched in a silent tomb, replaying over and over what happened that day after breakfast. I should have been expecting it. I should have. But then... why did it hurt all the same?

* * *

"Have a seat, my boy," he'd said, his voice full of tenderness, as we stepped from the winding staircase. Professor Dumbledore's office was the same as it has always been; the merry glow of warmth and laughter permeating the air. It wrapped around me like a soft, warm blanket, lulling me into a peaceful silence as I lowered myself onto a chair. The portraits of past Headmasters all gazed down at me stoically, as if they knew why I was there. Fawkes was there, fixing me with a sad eye. Yet the room was still so comfortable, and it was so strange for me to feel that way, I barely noticed Dumbledore's stern frown, those faded blue eyes staring right through me. 

"Harry... I am afraid I have bad news," that old withered voice didn't sound so tender anymore; it sucked all the warmth from the room. "But first I must ask you: are you all right, Harry? I realize last year was hard on you..."

_Last year? What happened last year?_

"...But it's time to move on. Sorrow _will _consume you, Harry, if you let it."

_Sorrow? I'm not sad, am I?_

"I don't understand, sir," my attention was focused on the brilliantly gold and red plumage of Fawkes. Something about the way the crimson bled into yellow was spellbinding. Such bright colours...

"Harry..." Dumbledore slumped as if the weight of the world suddenly collapsed on his shoulders. He appeared so sullen and grave. "I did not wish it to come to this, but alas, it's out of my hands..." His breathe left him then, in a rush of air, and he could not meet my eyes, "I am afraid, Harry, that your position as Head Boy is hereby... terminated. Another student will be taking over your duties."

He rambled on for a while after that, but I processed none of it. Something about not fulfilling my duties; that I'd received warnings about my behavior before. Warnings I have no recollection of. Now I know I'm losing my mind. The only thing I recall after that is him asking me, a hint of worry tainting his otherwise perfectly calm question: "Now I must ask you Harry..." the words vaguely familiar, "... _is_ everything all right?"

I surprised myself by answering honestly: "Yes, sir."

* * *

My eyes snap open. My mouth goes desert-dry, and I realize I really have no idea what day it is. Or how long I've been awake... or if I'm awake at all...? 

My eyes flutter restlessly over the sweeping canopy of my bed, searching for some kind of clue. A trembling hand swipes over my face; it takes me a moment to realize it's mine. Startled, I stare in sick fascination at the skeletal fingers stretching from my slender palm. I can almost count each and every brittle bone, jutting out grotesquely from my near-transparent skin. Wait... something's... wrong here. There's a distant thudding in my chest, and it takes me a moment to realize my heart is thundering wildly. I could have sworn... just the other day in Potions... hadn't my hand been soft and smooth, unblemished? Hadn't my body been flushed with youth? I remember... I remember staring at my hand in Potions... the soft skin... was it... was it a dream, too?

Buzzing with numbness, I rise from the bed and dart to Seamus' trunk. I know he has a mirror in there. Any morals I may have don't dare stop me as I fling open the lid and dig amongst the crumpled clothes. Cold glass stings my fingertips. Clutching it to my chest, I somehow weave a path back to my bed and crawl onto the sheets. I raise the flat pane of reflective glass before me and swallow a scream.

Logically, I know my body is going into shock; a cold numbness licks its way from my fingers to my toes; my body shudders with each shallow breath. But me, I'm far, far away... It's another boy down there, with mussed up black hair and glassy green eyes, twisting jerkily on the rumpled red sheets with a mirror clutched in his hand. It's not me; I'm high, high above, weightless, without worry, watching as that emaciated skeleton twists itself into a deformed pretzel, clawing at the pillows and struggling for air.

Then darkness descends, and all I see is black.

* * *

"_My dream had never died or lived again.  
As in some mystic middle state I lay;  
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:  
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all  
So often that I speak as having seen."_ [3]

* * *

I'm awake now, but it doesn't feel like it. I still feel as if I'm dreaming. The world around me is filmy and soft, the colours dripping together in a watery maelstrom. 

It's raining. I can hear the soft pings of water as they hit the windowpane, sluicing down the clear glass like tears. The noise outside is filtered by the noise inside; the quiet, muffled snores of my dorm mates as they lie peacefully in slumber.

I glance down... in my lap lies Seamus' mirror, and beside it, two scraps of parchment. I know what one says. It's the note from... before. I don't remember when, exactly.

And tonight, for some reason... something tugs at my consciousness, urging me to read what _I _have written. My hand twitches. Squinting, I try to read the inky words, but they scramble and blur together, illegible to my unfocussed eyes. All I can see is my own gaunt face staring back up at me. A face of children's nightmares: with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Eerily familiar. I have looked upon that face before...

_(...A walking corpse, I rise from my mattress and slither into the bathroom, gazing upon the stranger in the mirror. For a moment, I'm shocked at the ghastly face staring back at me, wondering who it could be. But... but this is no magicked surface; just a simple Muggle version, that reflects exactly what I am. What I am...)_

...I glance up from the mirror and stop still.

Where... where am I? I flick my gaze around in confusion; halls stretch before me and behind me, glowing dimly with flickering candle light. Everything around me is blanketed in silence. Above me, the ceiling is enshrouded with shadow; the light of candles is too weak to permeate such an encompassing darkness. As I stare at the nothingness of the ceiling, the dark suddenly seems to swoop down on me. A torch has blown out, behind me. I suck in my breath sharply. How did I get... _here_? Where _is_ here?

Somehow, it seems familiar, like I've been here before, but I don't think I have. It's possible, I have but... I don't recognize this part of the castle.

"You came."

I whip around in shock as that all-too-recognizable voice pierces the deathly hush of the hallway. No...

"I didn't think you would... after last year."

I stare at him in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Then it dawns on me... Today must be Friday...

_(**MEET ME AT MIDNIGHT...**)_

He shakes his head in frustration, "What is _with_ you, Harry? Why have you been ignoring me?"

"...Ignoring...?"

I dart out my tongue to moisten my suddenly dry lips. A low growl rumbles from his throat, his face is twists in torment, "Damn it, Harry, I didn't mean to! I just got carried away... it was a mistake, I'm sorry!"

_('Please, Harry, just let me...'_

'_No! I don't want to...')_

A violent shudder rips through me.

"What are you talking about?" I say, ignoring the sudden bubbling of fear in the pit of my stomach. His eyes flash, and then he's pressed against me, surprisingly strong hands closing around my frail wrists. I stumble backwards, eyes wide as a long unfelt thrill of feeling rushes through me.

"DON'T!" I sob, cringing away. His hands only grip me tighter.

"LISTEN to me, Harry... please... Why have you been ignoring me?! TELL ME!" He releases me, only to grip my chin and jerk my head up. The golden light dances over his hair, lending the platinum tint a warm, honeyed glow. Yet I can only stare helplessly in his eyes. His fierce, silver eyes, splashed with light.

"Don't..." I whisper, overwhelmed by this sudden terror. I'm frozen.

His voice crackles with fervent emotion as he wrenches my body close to his. "Harry, I missed you so much, and now you won't even talk to me... for Merlin's sake, I was drunk! It's not my fault... It's **_not_** my fault... If _she_ hadn't come in..." he trails off, tensing in anger.

_('Harry! How could you?! I thought we...' Blue eyes flooding with tears...)_

Gasping, I tear myself away from him, reeling backwards.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" I pant. Unwanted memories hack violently at the barrier I've built around myself. I don't want to remember... I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER!!!

"Bitch! Don't ignore me! SAY SOMETHING!"

All these words, so confusing... I don't understand...

"You can't still be mad, Harry... Harry! HARRY!" ..._don't... understand_... "LISTEN TO ME!"

_**SLAP!**_

Time grinds to a halt at the sudden flare of agony on my cheek. The harsh sound of flesh striking flesh echoes down the hall. I stare at him in numb sort of shock. He stares at his hand in horror. This is all so dreadfully familiar...

"Harry, I..."

He... hit me... (_Don't hit me, please... god, stop it... PLEASE! NO!)_

"Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry... I don't know what came over me!" His arms stretch out hopefully toward me, beckoning me close...

Suddenly I'm running. Running fast; running hard; running as far away as I can. Running from the memories that bite at my heels, because I don't want to know. I don't want to remember. I don't know how to deal... I don't want to deal... I just want to forget...

"Don't run away from me, you little bitch! HARRY! Come back here, Harry!"

My feet keep running, thumping haphazardly on the stone floor, chased by his anguished screams.

_"HARRY!!!!"_

I just want to forget...

* * *

_To be continued... if my review count makes it up to 120-130. I'm greedy. _

I'm really not that happy with this chapter either. I can't seem to capture the same sort of... tone... that I had for the first two. Ah, well. Say lah vee, eh? Hehehe... Although Harry IS supposed to be less coherent as the story goes along... he's a mess, poor boy, and what's up with MALFOY?! Eh? More will be revealed in the next chapter... though it may take a while... I really want to get more of _Fantasy Impromptu _(formerly A Wet Tale) done. Remember: **_REVIEW,_** please, tell me what you thought.

I'm also thinking of a POV change. After Harry loses it completely (it's obvious he will soon), it may be necessary. We'll see, anyway...

**[1]** I'm cursing myself, because this is a song, not a poem. I'm sure a few of you know it: _Dante's Prayer_ by Loreena McKennitt. I swore I would only use poetry in this thing, but I simply could not find one that suited. At least the lyrics _look_ like a classic sort of poem. Beautiful song.

**[2]** From _The Dream_ by Lord George Gordon Byron.

**[3]** From _Princess, Part VI_ by Lord Alfred Tennyson

_**REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! If I can get up to 120-130 reviews! Like I said, I'm greedy.**_


	5. Chapter IV Exposed

**The Poet**

:: narrated mostly by _Harry Potter_ ::

:: Authored by _just a bit potty _::

**:: key ::**

_(text)_ :: flashback

_text_ :: thoughts

**text** :: counter-thoughts

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* * *

**

** Chapter IV** - Exposed, _sometimes a lie is better._

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_

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER GETS PRETTY NASTY AT THE END. INCLUDES MAJOR ABUSE OF HARRY (MAINLY SEXUAL, NOT _TOO_ GRAPHIC) AND I CANT BELIEVE I WROTE THIS, BUT IF YOU DONT WANT TO READ THIS, THEN DONT! I GAVE YOU FAIR WARNING!**

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**

**IMPORTANT Pre-story stuff (must read)**: Okay, first off, nobody kill me please, for taking so long!  heheh.. Now, a couple of things... this I think will be the second last chapter of Harrys P.O.V. This chapter is also **UN-BETAED** since I thought Id better just get it out before people start up with the death-threats hehe...

Another thing... I HAVE DEFINITELY **NOT ABANDONED** my other major fic, **A Wet Tale**, soon to be renamed. I am actually rewriting it entirely, and so far it is coming along nicely, so dont worry any of you that were reading it.

I also tried not to go into much detail at all with Harrys Flashback (youll see) so theres **nothing TOO graphic really**, I dont describe much (I couldnt bring myself to), but still, it's disturbing all the same and you know whats happening (or at least, you should) **so if you dont like it, I advise you not to read.**

Now, finally... I **MUST** send out huge **thanks and apologies** to all my reviewers ; I'm sorry this took so long guys...  
**EDIT:** sowwy, i forgot to include someone in my thankyous! ; If I forgot anyone else, feel free to tell me so, I don't mind at all you all deserve to be mentioned, for reviewing

**crissy, thehappytree, MissLilyStar** _(sowwy my beta, if you're still out there, I thought I'd better post this before my reviews turned into death-threats '), _**SoulSister, Sarah, Wheat Thins are yummy **_(lol well hehe hopefully I will never abandon any of my fics... I just right like to snails fuck...veeeeeeerrry slowly)_,** linny**_ (your questions will all be answered....eventually ;), _**Ko-chan to Ya-chan **_(Another great poem! I'll be using it for sure in later chapters. I'm so sorry this has taken so long ), _**Ikari Shinji-kun, Fate, MoonlightDream, Lizard13 **_(heehee your review made me laugh :P), _**Cass, engineer bob, Aticia, liolo, it's all in your head, dark angel, Lii, Jazzylady** _(you'll seeee lol but probably draco or one of harry's friends), _**faerie dust, E.A.V **_(I'm so amazed you get into my fic that much... thankyou so much for such a kind review! )_, **leftoversushi, texasjeanette, Maskam** _(all your questions will be answered soon!), _**bagira **_(thanks for reviewing! yes I did write that one, it was an on-the-spot last-minute thing because I couldn't find anything that fitted),_ **look through me** _(ehehehe ; four months eh? I seriously hadn't realised ;), _**bitchmonkey **_(yessir!)_, **and Ash of Mine!**

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And thats it! I really hope this chapter doesnt disappoint anybody. Im really struggling with Harrys POV and thats what has taken me so long to get this out. Im just not depressed enough to get into it anymore ; lol things should come along much easier once I switch POVs.

**EDIT:** I changed the formatting a little, you probably won't notice though lol ;

* * *

**T**oday it seems as if all time has stopped.

The rain seems to have frozen mid-air, the grounds of Hogwarts are deserted, empty, as if there was no life there within. Even my warm breath has frosted on the glass. Time has stopped, and my mind is filled with nothing but the soothing scratch of my ink-dipped pen on paper, and all I see is what I have written, what I have created. My eyes hungrily soak up each word as it materializes before me; the yellowed page spattered with the mottled light of the afternoon sun, dribbling through the massive cogwheels and pinions above me.

I like it this way. I feel... _I feel almost........ _

All around me, the rest of the world ambles along happily, rolling forward with each _tick… tock… tick… tock…_ I remain suspended within myself. I feel as if I'm looking out at the world from behind a soft sheet of white, muffling everything I see and hear. So clearly I feel the kiss on cold air on my skin, but my head is stuffed with a cotton that blots all thoughts.  
I wonder if that is even my hand writing — that small, snow-white hand clutching around a flared feather pen. Maybe I am just peering over someone's shoulder; I look down, but there is only me. It is just me here, this part of me, a stranger to myself, staring through my own eyes. Far away, yet so close, to the part of me that remembers everything. I stay away from that Harry.

He knows too much...

For a moment, my eyes stray from the parchment draped over my knees. I follow the raindrops with my eyes. Rivulets that smash against the thick glass I rest against. They meander down the flat web of glass protecting the clock tower's inner mechanics from the outside elements. Each crystal droplet pooling hopelessly on the curved sill.

I feel as if I've been sitting here forever.

Maybe I have been.

I don't think that's true, though, because the last thing I remember is hurtling through the halls of this behemoth castle, shadows springing out at my from haunted corners, my feet leaping forward with no final destination, no purpose but to escape... (_escape from what?_)... Distress tearing at my every limb until I feared I would rip apart.  
Goose-bumps ripple all over my waxen skin. Odd… but I don't feel cold anymore. I sweep my fingertips over the raised bumps of flesh on my arm. Underneath the scratchy material cloaking my body, purple impressions throb with dull pain.

_But I thought I was safe here..._  
**  
Safe? Safe from what?**  
_  
Safe... from... _

I shy away from those thoughts. They're bad. There's not supposed to be anything bad here. Not here.

Not here.

* * *

_Lie here_

tarnished wreckage  
sweet innocence  
broken upon the hands of Adam

bleeding child  
so trembling, such fear

wraps around for a sacred cause 1

* * *

I drag my eyes away from the grey outside, and realize my quill is moving once more. Such pretty, flawless letters, not a drop of spilt ink. Inside, the heart I could have sworn I didn't have aches with the knowledge that I can see what I'm writing. Something insists its time for me to see. But I don't understand, really... why I couldn't see before?  
That thought causes a timid giggle to spill from my lips. I don't even know 'before'. Was there ever a 'before'?  
There must be... but it isn't for me to know.  
I _do_ know that… when I think back on that night when I ran hopelessly through the shadow-striped halls… If 'before' is made up of things like that... I am better off not knowing. If I try to remember, if I try to guess the unknown… Echoes of fear, pain and sorrow reverberate in my hollow chest. I don't want to remember. I am better off without those memories. Inside, I drift without emotion; I am content with the numbness that clouds my soul.

Above me, the cogs and gears churn loudly, and the clock tolls the third hour.

"Harry!"

My hand stills impulsively. A sudden presence looms beside me; I can feel the huffs and puffs of their strained breaths washing over my skin. I hug the yellowed sheets of paper to my thin chest. My eyes trail leisurely up the vertical sweep of dull grey robes and encounter a striped pattern of gold and red. A Gryffindor. _Gryffindor… yes, that's Gryffindor... of course... I knew that._ Farther up, I meet a face dappled all over with freckles, and concentrate on a pair of worried blue eyes.  
"You're at it again, aren't you?" the small bow of a mouth moves, but it takes me a moment to register his wobbly voice.  
"Ron," I say. _Yes… of course… Ron. My... best friend._

**Is he? Is he really?**

"Harry," the sigh that leaves him plummets to the floor despondently; his head has dropped with a weary hopelessness. I only level him with a lackadaisical stare. A nebulous question eddies in my eyes. "Harry… this has to stop. Everyone is so worried about you. The teachers, Hermione… me. It's not normal."  
Spotted darkness flashes before my eyes as I blink. I'm not in the mood to listen to this friend, whatever he wants. My fingers curl tighter around the delicate pen. Black ink oozes onto my paper. I rub my finger over it, and feel nothing.  
The words are illegible now. Some part of me mourns.  
"Harry! Aren't you listening to me at all?"  
I turn my face towards the frosted glass and watch my breath wash over it. I don't want to listen.  
"Please, Harry," his voice is choked by a sob, and against my will I meet his shimmering blue eyes. So pale... "It's been two weeks now! Before that you'd being doing fine, hadn't you? At least you would still smile... I should have known, though... Hermione told me, she told everyone — it wasn't healthy for them to just... to just let you go! But now... ever since... Ever since Dumbledore took away your Head Boy status—"_ ...I was... Head Boy...?_ "—you... It's not the end of the world, Harry! I know you're upset about... him... but... you can't just... Ugh! You seemed okay when you left Dumbledore's office! Did someone say something to you? Do something? Was it _Malfoy_?"

_Malfoy? Malfoy…_

**Yes... you remember, don't you? Malfoy...**

_(SLAP!_

'Merlin, Harry, I'm so sorry…I don't know what came over me!')

My head jerks violently; stop it! I don't want to remember! It's bad, it's bad! Bad memories, bad things!

But the words reverberate around my skull; with each pulsing repetition, I feel the slap against my cheek. I blink rapidly to clear my eyes, but I can't see anything beyond flashing silver eyes. My throat swells with the pressure of my heart trying to escape. My chest feels like a gaping black hole; a hungry maw of nothingness that sucks in my soul. _No…  
_  
My cheek still stings. But it's just a phantom pain... a memory...

"Harry! Please! What's the matter?! I'm your _best friend_, won't you tell me what's wrong? Something? Anything?"

I'm trapped in his watery gaze, but feel nothing as I recognize the fear welling in his eyes. My lips tremble silently and I feel small and weak in the force of that gaze. I feel... I feel...

But I don't want to... _somebody, please, make it stop... _

_('Help me, somebody! Please, please make it stop!'_

**Rrrrrrrip!**)

"Harry...? Merlin, what is WRONG?! You can tell me. I won't even tell Hermione if you don't want me to."

Panicked fingers dig into my bony shoulders. Jagged knives of pain spear down my arms, but all I can do is shiver.

_Tell you?_ I want to scream,_ tell you what? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!_

Those fingers suddenly let go, and Ron is scuttling backwards, staring at me with eyes wide as saucers. I shy away, cringing against the glass. "...What do I want from you, Harry?" _Had I spoken...aloud...?_ "You're acting crazy, Harry, you're—"

A brown flurry of feathers interrupts him, elegantly swooping between the cogs and gears above to land with a huff right beside me. The strange owl thrusts out its leg, fixing me with a yellow stare. I automatically relieve it of the small, rolled up parchment. My own papers slide to the floor, forgotten. It's mostly ruined, anyway...

"Harry, what is it?"

I realise I'm still clutching the owl's message. Ron shoos the bird away, but it only hops along the window's rim before skipping with a flourish of its wings to the stony floor.

I unfold the note, with a faint sense of deja vu.

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
I request that you meet Prof. Snape in the Potions classroom immediately for a continuation of your Occlumency lessons. I realise that after your sixth year, this will be terribly difficult for you, but I must insist. It is imperative, Harry, that you master this before Voldemort becomes any stronger. As it is, I fear it may not be enough, but this is all we can do for now. Prof. Snape will be waiting. I trust you will do what you feel is right.  
Sincerely, Prof. Dumbledore_

Occlumency. _Occ-lu-men-cy..._ why does that word send thrills of fear through my body. Occlumency... occlumency... A shudder rips through me as I stumble to my feet. For a long time, I stare at Ron, my... friend. I stare at him, and he only stares back. Tear tracks glisten on his pale cheeks.

_Why do I make people cry...?_  
**  
You cause them so much pain...**

"I... have to go see... someone."

Ron only stands there, a solemn statue, as I slowly walk away.

* * *

_He left you_

pure angel defiled  
o the blood the blood

so much drains away  
staining the wooden flanks 1 

_

* * *

_

Colour slowly drains from the walls and floors as I descend into the dungeons. In black and white I find my way through winding passages to a foreboding door. Snape's door. My hand flinches away from the rotting wood... Part of me wishes that I was back in the watch tower with... with... that boy... what was his name?  
So dreamlike, I feel like maybe I wasn't there, after all. But if I wasn't there, where was I...?

The door before me suddenly rips open so violently I'm afraid the wood will suddenly collapse and crumble.

I'm ensnared by endless black eyes.

"Mr. Potter... how kind of you to join me," the dulcet tones are laced with the snap of a viper. A slender white hand gestures for me to enter, and I find my feet obeying the silent command. Like a lamb I'm lead into the dank room.

"Against my better judgement, Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore has insisted we resume our Occlumency lessons. I suppose it is too much to even hope you've improved, however."

My eyes droop to the floor. What is he talking about? The urge to hug myself is hard to fight. I feel so small and insignificant... has it always been this way?

"Look at me, Potter..."

My stomach lurches suddenly with a strong ripple of fear — all this is so familiar...

"I won't ask again, Mr. Potter, _look at me_."

Against my will, I find myself meeting his eyes. All I see is those narrowed, coal-dark eyes, glaring into mine. The minutes crawl past, agonisingly slow. I'm not sure what is supposed to be happening but... the professor seems to grow more frustrated by the second. Inside my mind, I feel a constant pressure... pulsing against my consciousness. Pushing, pushing... trying to escape. Trying to invade. A whimper chokes past my aching throat. _Please stop... please...Ahh!_  
_  
('PLEASE STOP! STOP! PLE—!'_

Gagging...)

Those pools of black widen a fraction. Thin lips press firmly together. I want to cry out, to beg him to stop...whatever he is doing to me. My head feels so full... pressing against the surface.

I struggle so hard... I try... I try... but... I...

I fall...

* * *

_no one to care  
none could find the enamoured light_

life fading from thine eyes  
death's valley  
welcomes so many

such tears shed  
will not bring back

what lacked so long 1

* * *

**

* * *

**

**!! W A R N I N G !!**

**WARNING!! WARNING!! THIS IS WHERE IT GETS NASTY. DO NOT CONTINUE IF YOU DONT WANT TO READ HARRYS FLASHBACK. WARNING!! WARNING!!**

**

* * *

**

_(( "What is it, girl? Hungry? I'm sorry; I don't have any food right now. Maybe later," a soft voice murmurs, heavy with defeat. It's a boy, thin and pale, hunched over piles of books and parchment._

The snowy white owl only hoots louder, flapping pristine wings from behind iron bars. The boy grows frustrated. Trouble would come if she didn't stop.

"What is it? You know I can't let you out. What do you want?" Green eyes flick toward the door, cringing at the sound of a chair scraping over freshly polished tiles. Heavy, thumping footsteps and angry muttering. "Please be quiet, Hedwig."

But the bird's squawking only escalates, yellow eyes wide with fear. Leaden feet stomp up the stairs.

"Hedwig, why can't you just shut the hell up?!" the boy hisses, clutching the bars of her cage in tight fists. "You're going to get me in—,"

"Boy!" The angry growl of a monster from beyond his door. Eyes wide with fright, the boy whirls to face his prison's entrance, knocking the parchments and books from the table. The doorknob twists... "I told you to keep that ruddy bird silent!"

Terrified, the boy lunges forward and flips the flimsy lock. Won't hold long. He himself leans against it... anything to keep the monster out.

"Don't you dare shut me out boy, you'll regret it... OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!"

The boy shakes his head silently, tears streaming down his cheeks. The door shudders. Rusty hinges protest. Bang. Bang. Bang. BANG!

Shoved forward by the door bursting suddenly open. He cries out.

Framed by the doorway is a monstrously sized man, his face purple with rage.

"I'm sorry, sir! I just... I—,"

"No! I've had enough of your excuses, boy. This is the last straw."

The boy cowers back, fear swirling in his eyes. The huge man slowly stalks forward, fists clenched tightly.

"I've tried to be lenient with you, boy, I've tried. But you just INSIST on pushing me. You INSIST on being the snot-nosed brat your useless father was. I've had it up to here, boy, and there's only so much I can take," an insidious voice, dangerously low, trembling with a deadly anger. "You refuse to learn. You REFUSE. I've tried boy, but I'm afraid there's only one way to get through to you now..."

The boy screams as a meaty hand grabs his hair and pulls him close to the man's body. Foul breath washes over his face. "I'll teach you..."

Flung so hard by a heavy slap, it is the wall his body hits first. Tossed like a rag-doll, no time to recover as a hand grips his thin ankle. Dragged across the floor. Dragged over paper and clothes. Dragged until the bed towers above him, the bare mattress and lonely pillow.

The man fists the back of his shirt, pulling it tight across his throat. He chokes. Strangles. Can't breath—

**Rrrrrrrip**!

Scraps of his shirt flutter to the floor. Shoved onto the bed. He hugs the lone pillow, desperate.

Crushed, as impossible weight settles over his legs. Hands run over his back, his arms, his thighs, everywhere... Another rip. It's just fabric. Skin everywhere, so naked, so bare. He hugs the pillow closer.

More clothing rustles. He sobs in fear. Hands capture his, force them between thick, sweaty thighs. Panic!

"Please—I don't want to—No!—don't make me—please—,"

"You don't like this boy? Why not? You're nothing but a whore after all — just like your filthy mother! Ha! Maybe you'll like something else then."

The boy cries. "Somebody... PLEASE! Help me!!!"

"It's no use crying for help, boy, there's no one here who'll help you!"

He shuts his eyes tightly as the huge body looms between his legs. "Please—no—AH!"

_  
A scream._

_  
He can't stop screaming._

_

* * *

he broke you_

o yes  
he cursed and violated you  
such perverse sin

lies here in this wreckage  
o death what beautiful peace

wish you not such darken'd freedom? 1

* * *

_To be continued..._

_

* * *

_

1 This amazing poem was given to me for use by my the wonderful _Miss Lily Star_! She showed it to me and it was just right for this chapter. It's all hers; I had no part in it! It is called _Maiden Child_ and I only used the first half she gave me, as it is VERY long (and lovely) but too long to use all of it.

**PLEASE REVIEW, READERS! I PROMISE NOT TO MAKE YOU WAIT 4 MONTHS FOR ANOTHER UPDATE THIS TIME! PLEEEEEEEEZE REVIEW, it's a MUST! DON'T MAKE ME HOLD THIS FIC RANSOM AGAIN! LOL .' Lets try to make it to 150 maybe? Me greedy author! want yummy yummy reviews! **

* * *


	6. Chapter V Meltdown

**The Poet**

: narrated mostly by Harry Potter :  
: Authored by _just a bit potty _:

**: key :**  
((text))flashback  
_text_thoughts  
**text**counter-thoughts

**Chapter V** - Melt down, _time is too late_

**warning: prepare to be confused and possibly devastated...**

**Pre-story notes and warnings: **_**THIS DOES GET PRETTY WEIRD AND TWISTED AS THE CHAPTER GOES ON!**_  
Now... I know, I know, it's taken aaaaages for me to get this out, and I'm sorry! I'm not even sure when the next one will be out... to make up for it (a little) this chapter is pretty long... though you'll probably hate me for the ending anyway. Heh heh. Review responses are at the bottom this time.

**To my reviewers:** I'm really sorry, but this chapter I can only offer a broad (and heartfelt) thankyou to all of you that reviewed! If you asked a question in your review that you really wanted answered, please do ask again, or email me XD I just let it get too out of hand this time, too many reviews to go through at this time of night reply to xx I thought I'd just get this chapter out ASAP rather than prolong it's release by re-reading all my reviews and replying ; so, yeah, please if you have a question you left in your reviews that I didn't answer this time around, please feel free to ask again or **email**.

**_And now on to the next chapter..._**

**_

* * *

_**

**_In the last chapter..._**

_"It's been two weeks, now! Before that you'd being doing fine, hadn't you? At least you would still smile..."_

_... "I... have to go see... someone."_

_Ron only stands there, a solemn statue, as I slowly walk away._

* * *

_"Look at me, Potter..."_

_Inside my mind, I feel a constant pressure... pulsing against my consciousness. Pushing, pushing... trying to escape. Trying to invade. A whimper chokes past my aching throat. Please stop... please...Ahh!_

_I struggle so hard... I try... I try... but... I..._

_I fall..._

* * *

_"Don't you dare shut me out boy, you'll regret it... OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!"_

_Bang. Bang. Bang. BANG! _

_The boy cries. "Somebody... PLEASE! Help me!"_

_A scream._

_He can't stop screaming._

* * *

I walk.

Left foot, right foot, left...

I don't stop. Even when the floor melts beneath me, I walk. Don't stop walking.

The walls pulse and breathe around me, sucking me deeper. Soaring higher and higher above me. Their framed faces whisper, murmur, all point and stare with empty eyes. It's not real... nothing's...real...

Don't stop walking... Left foot, right foot, left...

My hands swing slowly, skeletal pendulums. The icy fingers brush against my robes. The rough material is harsh against the soft flesh, but I can't stop...

I walk because I don't know... I don't know where I am. What I'm doing here.

I'm Harry... right? Harry... something... I'm not even sure anymore...

I feel like more than just more than just the castle is watching me. There are eyes... Eyes that never leave me, never blink or look away. Eyes inside my head... inside but still watching. Most haunting are anguished golden eyes, sparkling with translucent tears. Most devastating are pale blue eyes, swallowed by ghostly mist. Most painful are fathomless green, wide and screaming in silent fear. Most intense are glistening silver eyes, burning brightly into me...

Most frightening of all are eyes the color of blood; laughing, evil eyes...

I want to be afraid of those eyes... I feel like I should be... Those eyes mean death...

**Is death _really_ so scary?**

_I don't know..._ I don't know anymore, and that's what's so confusing. My whole head is a grey area, swallowed by fathomless pits of darkness...

Isolated voices tear at me from all directions. I don't know which to follow, but still, they all beckon me toward them. Tendrils of sound wrapping around my hands and feet, pulling me apart, like I'm a criminal to be drawn and quartered. A desperate cry is wrenched from my throat, but my own tongue, thick and dry inside my mouth, strangles the pathetic sound.

I toss my head in one direction, and the voices boom louder. Helpless, I can only stare into my own darkness, and suddenly I'm not here anymore...

* * *

_Nature's first green is gold,  
Her hardest hue to hold.  
Her early leaf's a flower;  
But only so an hour.  
Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
Nothing gold can stay. _1

* * *

((_ I'm in a room. Grime licks at the walls, making them slimy and cold to touch. The light is strangled by an all-encompassing darkness. The air is damp and heavy, so thick it feels as if I'm wading through water as I slowly step forward. I wonder, as my boots make no sound on the stone floor. It feels as though they should... _

_But then my eyes are inevitably drawn to a huddled mass at my feet. It trembles and jerks, its body twitching violently like its limbs were being tugged in all opposite directions. The thing looks so pitiful... wretchedly pale, the kind of sickly white you only see from the deathly ill, like marble stretched over bone. So thin and delicate, a wisp of a creature, its face all obscured by a thick tumble of stringy black hair. I feel... sad... staring at this pitiful sight. Yes... sad. There is nothing else to feel. _

_It's then I become aware of another nearby. For some reason, my heart clenches painfully as I stare at the black-clad form, fallen to his knees. This one, too, shudders. His face I can see. Framed by slick sable locks, this face has the pallid air of one deprived from sunlight. His nose is large, aquiline. His mouth a jagged gash, pressed together so tightly his thin lips turn as white as his skin. But those eyes... endless pits of shadow, the lightless color of his irises swims in glittering moisture. There can only way to describe the world of emotion those eyes reveal: devastation... horror... It's nearly destroying to witness this man crumble before the convulsing form of that horrid, skinny creature. It's..._

_...heart breaking..._

_Then the creature stops its trembling, and lies deathly still. For a moment, I believe it really has passed on, and feel almost... relieved. But then its body hurls upright, emaciated arms outstretched as if warding off approaching danger. Its eyes meet those of the cowed man; I gasp as I see them. A startling green, a vortex of strangely vibrant color with barely pinpricks for pupils. It's then I realize, that this isn't a creature... it's a boy. A small, frightened boy._

_My chest aches. He seems so familiar..._

_My eyes gaze upon them both in a kind of numb fascination. The man seems to have no words, his lips quaver silently. The boy's, too. Until... finally..._

_"No..."_

_The boy... his voice is chilled with terror, as if he'd just seen the most terrifying thing anyone could think of. As if he'd just seen the gaping maw of death threatening to swallow him whole, and had barely escaped with his life._

_"No...!" he says again, a hoarse, urgent whisper._

_It seems to snap the man from his trance, but all he utters is, "Mr. Potter..." in the kind of numb way that people do when they aren't sure if something is real or not. _

_"No!" this time his voice is louder, though no less brittle. He scuttles backwards with all the strength he can muster. "You didn't see! You saw nothing!" I feel his anger, his desperation, thundering in my chest as if it was my own._

_The man is still horrified. Dimly he reaches for his wand, and I feel scared for the poor boy._

_"NO! YOU SAW NOTHING! Forget...! Forget! FORGET!" with that last scream blue magic bolts from the shivering boy, and the man has no time to protect himself. It washes over his body like an angry tidal wave, and then fades to nothing but a memory. The man is left in a heap on the floor, his sallow skin stark against the murky stone, his hair an oleaginous fan beneath his head._

_I just... wanted... him... to forget..._

_The boy screams again, his emerald eyes scrunched tightly against the world, and before I know it I have my eyes closed to. I feel hands grab my hair and pull, clutching it in an iron grip, and realize they're my hands. _

_"FORGET, FORGET, FORGET!"_

_Stop it—_

_"FORGET!"_

_I SAID STOP!))_

_

* * *

_

_And mutual fear brings peace,  
Till the selfish loves increase;  
Then Cruelty knits a snare,  
And spreads his baits with care. _2

* * *

My eyes snap open. Cold nips at my skin, lingering from that nightmare... The boy and that man. I want to feel sad for them. The boy, for the obvious pain he was in. The man, for the devastation he so plainly felt. Before, I clearly remember being sad, worried, scared, as I watched them. So little but so much happened to them in that short time. But it's as if... it doesn't touch me anymore. Already the emotion has fled, and I feel nothing. Perhaps they weren't even real.

The walls are sliding by slowly, unevenly, and I realize that I'm the reason the walls are moving. They're not moving, it's me that's moving now. Walking slowly forward, with an uneasy gait.

Those voices again, I hear them biting at my heels. But when I turn, I see nothing, only the pitch black swallowing the path I had just trodden. No matter... I don't plan on going back that way.

I don't plan on going anywhere.

But I do end up somewhere.

My head swivels left, and I'm face with two intricate doors, a giant's doors, that stretch way up to the misty ceiling. My knees are suddenly weighted with lead, and I slide slowly to the floor. Yes... I don't need to walk anymore. I will just sit here for a while. I'm too tired to keep walking. Instead I gaze quietly at the great doors before me. I can still hear the voices... they are closing in on me, but I can't move anymore. I just want to sit here...

I don't need to keep going. I'll just rest a little while... Just a... little while...

_(( I blink in surprise. I'm in a strange place again. But this time, it's not a dank dungeon. It's a room glowing with a healthy warmth from the fireplace. Bright, jovial colors trounce the walls and furniture, reds and golds, splashed with blue, green and even silver. I'm sure I didn't mean to come here... I just wanted to rest. All the same, here is where I am._

_At first I think I'm alone. My eyes meander around the room. It seems like this is a happy, romantic place. Christmas-like decorations adorn almost every corner of the room. Tinsel draped across the fireplace, ribbons of red and green trussing up any dim corner or object. Holly and mistletoe dangle randomly from the ceiling. More impressive are the airborne candles, gently floating around the room. Those, too, have silver, red and green ribbons tied about their middles. _

_There are soft, inviting sofas. A low-set table filled to the brim with candies and chocolates, rich cakes, freshly baked bread and hot, steaming tea. Beneath my feet, the deep red carpet is so thick my feet disappear into it. I notice that no paintings adorn the walls, and for some reason that seems odd to me. I really believe I am alone here... and I don't think it's such a bad place for someone to be alone in._

_But then I hear something. A grunt._

_My eyes search, and find... a bed. And the two people entwined atop it. Their bare skin glows seductively in the ambience set by the candles and the quiet fire in the hearth. Both are very nearly naked, grasping at each other desperately... but No. One seems to be pushing the other away, his slender hands grasping at the bigger boy's shoulders in an attempt to force him off. But it seems the boy with such pale, corn-silk hair has no intention of heeding the dark-haired boy's efforts; his kisses only grown more fervent, sloppily trailing over his companion's face and neck. The path of saliva left behind glistens wetly in the light._

_Finally, the boy with the dark hair speaks, and opens familiar green eyes to stare at the one above him, "Stop it, Draco! I said I don't want to."_

_"Come on, love, don't deny me anymore. Just let me—"_

_A cry escapes the smaller boy as... Draco... That name sounds so familiar... as Draco unceremoniously shoves a hand down his already loosened pants. He shakes his head in denial and still tries to shove Draco away. "Please! I said no!"_

_"And I said yes!"_

_My breath caught in my throat. I want to rush over there and stop him from what I know he will do. I can smell the liquor on his breath from hear, with each vulgar grunt. But I do nothing, only stand, rooted to where I am._

_Even as Draco's attentions gain more ferocity, literally ripping down the dark-haired boy's pants. I can't even turn away. I want to stop this so much. But I...can't. It will happen... I can't do anything..._

_I ... **couldn't**... do anything... when he..._

_The portrait door bangs open with a yelp from its guardian, and a redheaded tornado flies in. At first it seems she doesn't notice the pair on the bed, and begins talking immediately._

_"I know I said I was leaving with Ron for Christmas, and I still am, I just couldn't wait any longer! I need to tell you, H—"_

_Her words are squashed into silence as she finally sees the two boys. I wonder... why doesn't she see me? Don't I exist?_

_Draco curses. The other boy's head is turned away, yet I can still see the tears of shame staining his pristine cheeks. I stare into his defeated expression, almost overwhelmed. He looks so heart broken, so crushed that this Draco would do this to him. I don't think he even realizes that the fiery young woman has just entered._

_In fact, I didn't even realize she was speaking again..._

_"...could you! I thought we..." Her blue eyes flood with moisture, betrayal._

_The boy's breath hitches. "...Ginny..?"_

_In that moment, I see a small piece of that boy wither... and die...))_

"...just found him like that, sitting in front of the doors, staring at nothing."

"You don't know how long he's been like this, then?"

"No, I have no idea, Madame Pomfrey."

I'm awake. I just realized that. Those are real voices I'm hearing, not the phantoms that chased me through the halls. Those did seem real though...

"Harry?"

"You see? Nothing. I tried for fifteen minutes. It's like he's not even there."

"I understand, Mr. Weasley. Thank you for bringing him to me."

"Do you... have any idea what's wrong with him?"

"My guess is, the shock has finally caught up with him. It must have been awful, witnessing something like that... he seemed so fine when he came back. It must have just finally hit him. Poor boy..."

"Well... I better go tell Hermione that he's here. Can we come back later?"

"Yes, I think that would be good. Perhaps it might help bring him out of it. Until then... I'm afraid there's not much we can do."

The voices leave me, chased by soft footfalls. Who were they talking about? Is it me? My eyes slide open — funny, but I hadn't even realized they'd been shut.

It's just you and me now.

Yes... I'm all alone. Maybe now I can rest. Before those voices come back... I'll just close my eyes, and...

_(( Again, I find myself in a strange place. Another room, this one washed with reds and gold. It's oddly circular, with five poster beds; all of them seem to be occupied, with their wispy curtains drawn back to let the moonlight wash over their slumbering bodies. But there's one bed with its curtains drawn tightly shut. It glows from inside, and I can see the silhouette of a hunched over body. Rocking back and forth, slowly. Curious, I venture forward, cringing as something crunches beneath my feet. My eyes fall to land on the piece of paper I'd just stepped on. Small, messy script is written jaggedly across the page. It's only a small parchment, just enough for what's on it. _

_I bend down, shifting my foot back so I can pick it up. I bring the paper closer to my eyes, squinting as I read its contents..._

_He sits down with holy fears,  
And waters the ground with tears;  
Then Humility takes its root  
Underneath his foot. _2

_At that moment, I hear a sharp tear, and glance up in time to see another shy scrap fall from behind those mysteriously closed curtains. It trembles on the still air, fluttering to the floor with barely a whisper. Almost like a treasure trail, leading me forward. Drawn in, I can't help but stumble closer, sinking to my knees. With the other parchment crumpled in my hand, I reach out and pick it up. This, too, has small, scribbled phrases marring its surface..._

_Soon spreads the dismal shade_  
_Of Mystery over his head;_  
_And the Caterpillar and Fly_  
_Feed on the Mystery. _2 

_Finally, I raise my eyes to the bed before me. With a trembling hand, I push back the curtains, peering over the edge of the mattress. _

_Inside is a boy. I want to think it's the same boy as before, on the bed with that Draco. But he seems too thin, brittle like an autumn leaf. Then I think perhaps it's the boy in the dungeons, but he seems too... alive to be that helpless creature._

_No, this boy... he is surrounded by a sea of pale yellow paper, stained by thousands of inked words. Not even a patch of bedcover is exposed, it's only him and the parchment. Scribbling frenetically on any available paper, his bright green eyes are glazed and empty as all his thoughts escape through his bent quill._

_Those eyes... they are the same as the other boys'. All three were such a vivacious green. It must be the same boy. But who is he?_

_My hand reaches out before I can stop it. It wavers in the air briefly, before brushing against the boy's shoulder. It's hard and bony beneath his flimsy pajamas. _

_Almost instantly, he stills. The quill slips from his fingertips. For a long while, he simply sits and does nothing. Then slowly... slowly... his head swivels toward me and I'm trapped in a venomous green void. A thrill of fear tingles down my spine. I whimper, and amazingly find tears obscuring my vision. "No..." I whisper._

_I try to pull away, but a surprisingly strong hand wraps around mine. A choked scream bursts from my lips, as I'm suddenly jerked forward, my knees leave the floor and I'm sprawled over the bed, the sharp edges of paper biting into my skin. More tears spill from my eyes. I don't know what's happening... before he never noticed me, why now did he—_

**_"You don't know any more, do you Harry?"_**

_I shake my head mutely, burying my face into my arms. His body drapes across mine, hands worming down my sides and up again. I trill in horror, sobbing. My tears leak onto the paper beneath me and smear the words._

**_"It's all over, Harry! It's too late! Why do you even try! Just let them go—you don't need those memories... it's just you and me now, Harry. Just you and me... you don't need anyone else but yourself..."_**

_Rough lips nip at my neck and shoulders. I want him to stop... I try so hard to make my body move, but all I can do is weep into the shallow refuge my folded arms provide. _

**_"You shouldn't keep trying to remember these things, Harry... don't you see how much pain it causes you?"_**

_Like a rag-doll, my body is brusquely rolled over, and I'm all of a sudden staring up into familiar luminous green. They loom closer, wide and bright and I can see nothing but those eyes._

_**"You don't even understand anymore, do you Harry...? Nobody knows but me, and you've locked me away in here forever." **Soft fingers graze my cheek with mock tenderness. **"You're not even yourself anymore, Harry... only I know who you are. You don't need anyone else, Harry... you only need me..."**_

_Those eyes, so full of pain, anguish, anger... they are the last things I see before my lips are claimed in an uncaring kiss... _

_Maybe he's right... maybe I don't need anyone else..._

_All I have is myself...))_

_

* * *

And it bears the fruit of Deceit,  
Ruddy and sweet to eat;  
And the Raven his nest has made  
In its thickest shade. _2

* * *

"Harry... you're awake!" a quiet voice cracks brokenly to my left. I shift my gaze to find its owner, and see a wild brush of chestnut hair. Then it lifts, and I see a pretty face smiling at my sadly, with silvery trails kissing down her soft cheeks. "I can't believe it, Harry... you're finally awake."

My fingers twitch as I try to raise them. I have the urge to touch her unruly hair, to brush the stray tendrils from her face.

"You've just been lying here for days, staring at nothing. Madame Pomfrey is in a meeting with the Headmaster about you — they were about to send you away, Harry!"

Her face crumples in torment, and then she launches herself at me, flinging her arms over me in a desperate embrace. Her heartbroken sobs soak my neck and shoulder. Dully, I run my hands over the spill of dark hair covering my chest. It's silky and thick.

After a while, she slowly lifts herself off me, wiping helplessly at her shimmering eyes. "I'm so glad you're awake, Harry."

"You are pretty," I say, and smile up at her. "You have nice hair."

Her eyes once again flood with tears, but she determinedly brushes them away. "Th-thankyou, Harry... I... I better go tell Ron you're awake. He's sleeping now, finally. He sat at your side all day and all night for two days. I made him get some sleep, but he made me promise to wake him as soon as you... came back to us."

As she speaks, she's already rising from her chair, brushing off her robes. Before I have a chance to say anything more, she's already rushing out of the room, staring at me over her shoulder all the while.

She seemed like a really nice girl... her hair was soft.

I'm alone again now.

**Not completely alone, Harry... you've still got me.**

I shudder minutely, but nod all the same. Yes, I've still got him. I know who he is now, he's the boy.

I don't feel like lying here anymore. I wonder if anyone would miss me if I went for a walk? The girl might, but I forget what she was saying... I think she left to find somebody. She might not be back for a while. I think I have time for just a quick walk.

A rush of dizziness swirls around my head as I slowly rise. As I slowly swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I glance down. My clothes are all white, soft and cottony. For the first time, I take notice of my surroundings, too. There are lots of beds in here, each with neat tables right next to them. It looks very cozy, but at the same time feel kind of sterile. I'm not sure I like this room that much. My feet touch the floor.

There we go... I'm on my feet now. It's a little funny, because the floor wobbles as I walk towards the door, but after a minute or two I get used to it. All the same, I have to stare at my feet to make sure they are doing the right thing.

When I look up again, an unfamiliar hall greets me. Smaller corridors branch of from this one, which seems to be heading towards a slender staircase that curls around like a shell towards the next floor. I decide to just keep walking forward, falling to my knees as I reach the stairs. One by one, I crawl up the stairs. It's almost like an adventure.

I feel insubstantial, like I don't even exist. Like if I'm not careful, I'll simply fall through these stairs. Like I could put my hand against a wall, and have it fall through. It's a giddy, disorienting feeling. Like I'm made of nothing but my thoughts. An empty ghost.

Once more I raise my eyes, breaking from my thoughts, as I feel a soft breeze tickle my ear. It's so cool and tender; I keep climbing, urged by the zephyr. Then I see blue, pale and cold. It's the sky, I realize, as I reach the top of the stairs and crawl out onto a small, circular platform, fenced by a low stone wall. It must be one of this castle's highest towers.

The breeze picks up again, lifting under my arms until I can't help but stand. It kisses my face like a gentle lover, caressing my cheeks, my lips. Before me the blue sky stretches on endlessly, laced with the softest white clouds. I feel like I could fly. I want to fly. It would be a great adventure. I don't think... I don't think it would be too bad if I stepped off. Just to see if I really can fly. I think the wind would pick me up, and carry me off into those wispy clouds. I like that idea.

I feel strangely dizzy, though, so I'm careful as I walk closer to the edge. It's a little tricky, but I manage to crawl up onto the thick lip of stone that runs around the edge of the platform. I pull my legs around, until my feet are pressed against the stone, ready to push of at any moment. The wind whistles approvingly, wrapping around my arms.

I think.. I think I can do it...

**_"HARRY!"_**

I turn, shyly, and peek over my shoulder. It's that boy with the pale hair, his face twisted in fear. I can see his just his face, as he's trying to climb the stairs as fast as possible. I offer him a smile, holding out my hand to him. He looks so sad; I really don't think he meant to hurt the green-eyed boy.

He's too slow, though. I don't have time to wait.

A laugh breaks free of my lips, and I curl my fingers at him.

Smiling still, I spread my arms wide, close my eyes... and push off the edge.

* * *

_To be continued..._

**NOTES:**

**1.** This first poem is _Nothing Gold Can Stay _by Robert Lee Frost.

**2.** This second poem is from _Human Abstract_ by William Blake. It's missing the first and last stanzas.

**3. **In case you didn't understand: Yes, the green-eyed boy in Harry's 'visions' IS Harry. They are _sort of _'flashbacks' to certain events that have been blotted from Harry's memory. The last one is, too, except this time he interferes with his 'memory'... I have an explanation for what is happening, and if needed I will explain further in the next chapter, but I'd like to see what all of YOU think is actually happening in that last 'vision'.

**TIME FOR A VOTE, PEOPLE: **After this, it will be a jump back into the past, to fill in some of the gaps and mysteries. The question is: Whose **POV** will it be in the upcoming chapter(s)? **Hermione's, Ron's, or Draco's?**

Keep in mind, whoever you pick, will determine which mysteries are solved first, for instance, if you pick Hermione or Ron, things like what happened during the times Harry would 'black out' and suddenly find himself somewhere else, or exactly why everyone has just left Harry be, thinking he's just mourning. If you choose Draco, it will be more along the lines of what happened between them, were they in a relationship, what happened the night Draco got drunk... etc... Both POV's WILL be written, it's just a matter of which is written first/which mysteries are brought into light first. **It's up to you guys!**

**_PLEASE REVIEW, YA?_** Don't make me** ransom** this fic **AGAIN** lol I am sho evil.


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